


Close Encounters Of The Fourth Kind

by OnkelJo



Series: CE4 [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: Gen, Intersect, Self-Insert, Spy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 26,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnkelJo/pseuds/OnkelJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny Gerthson, 20-year-old engineering student, wakes up to find himself abducted by an alien presence known in this reality as "The G-Man”. He is a dispatcher for a mysterious employer who transports people across dimensions and realities to ensure safety and stability there. Jonny Gerthson is now one of these people. He lands in the Castle Universe in ‘09 (and his own body from that time) and has to jump in to save the day. With a little help of a new supercomputer in his brain.</p><p>He has to juggle saving the universe, school, interfering with Castle and Beckett’s lives, foiling conspiracies and not blowing his cover. Of course, with everything that goes wrong, hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plunging in

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea born from idiocy, I admit. Self inserts are a guilty pleasure of mine and I have no idea if this will even work, but at this point, I don't even care anymore. I want to share this special kind of idiocy with you, and I'm quite confident (and glad) that this story is unique. As in, you're lucky there aren't more stories like it.
> 
> For those of you who are not acquainted with the concept of self inserts, here's a little rundown: A self insert (short: SI) is a story where a person, usually the author him-/herself (otherwise it's an OCI), is inserted into a fictional universe of the author's choice, often with vast knowledge of the chosen universe. Pretty self explanatory. And more often than not, bad/corny/tacky to the point of physically hurting. I do not intend to cause you pain, but the nature of this story demands that I at least warn you. For this story, I'll go with the no-holds-barred approach. Although, there's no other way for an SI.
> 
> Long author's note over. If you made it this far, congratulations. You may read the story now.

_Omnes relinquite spes, o vos intrantes._

I couldn't help but to think of Dante's 'The Divine Comedy' when I thrashed around in my restraints.

"Struggling will… do you no… good, Mr. Gerthson."

I turned my head towards the speaker and had to swallow a lump in my throat, which was rather difficult lying horizontally. The eerie blue and green speckled eyes, the accurate haircut, the suit… not to mention the voice…

"G-Man?" I croaked out.

"Rather… astute. Good, good... it will make things… easier to… explain. The pain you are… experiencing is a side effect from… interdimensional hopping and will… fade shortly after we arrive. You were chosen… to put a halt to an… unnerving development in… one of your parallel dimensions."

"Do I have an alien invasion to stop?"

Speaking wasn't easy, but I didn't saw a reason not to spend what little power I had left on sarcasm and irony.

Oddly enough, the elder man only chuckled throatily. "Not everyone is… made for this kind… of mission. Let's leave those… to Mr. Freeman, shall… we?"

"Does that mean we get Half-Life 3?"

My voice was almost gone.

"I honestly… hope not. Two incursions were… bad enough already. My… employers… have something… different in mind… for you."

I coughed, causing my lungs to start burning. "What is it?"

There were a few moments of silence before the agent spoke again. "I am… surprised that you don't… even bother to ask about returning… which would be fine; once you're done, you can go… back to your… old life."

Weren't I restrained, I would've shrugged. "I'd say I'm at your mercy, Mr. G-Man. If Gordon Freeman can't escape your clutches, what chance would I possibly have?"

The G-Man's face twitches into a cold smile. "True, true. But remember… this fatalistic attitude, while handy… sometimes, might… cost you dearly in… the future."

Blackness was already crawling at the edges of my vision. I didn't have much time.

"So where are you sending me?" I asked.

"How well… do you know… New York, Mr. Gerthson?"

* * *

"He's flatlining! Gonna defib!" "Two hundred joules ready!" "Clear!"

The jolt of electricity ripples through my body and I spasm uncontrollably.

"Welcome to… New York, have… a nice stay," G-Man's voice echoes hollowly through my mind before fading, along with the rest of my surroundings.

* * *

"He's waking up!" I hear a voice whispering close-by.

When I open my eyes and turn my head, I see a man in a white doctor's overall standing at the foot of my bed. He's in his mid-thirties and could easily work as a model, with his ridiculously white toothy grin and the shiny dark hair.

"Hey there. I'm glad you're awake now. Was a close call a few times but we got you through."

Bleary memories start to swirl through my mind and a name pops up.

I squint hard and try to read the guy's name tag, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Doctor Davidson, I was the doctor on call when you were brought in. You had a heart attack. This is quite unusual for your age, by the way. Do you have any family members with cardiac problems?"

New York? Doctor Davidson? You've _got_ to be kidding me…

"I know people who died of a heart attack who were twenty years old, too, but that has been because of alcohol, a dare and an illegally high-powered electric fence, but no, noone in my family that I know of."

He gives me an odd look. "Oh...kay… that was oddly specific. But you've got a few years until twenty, kid."

_Wait, what?_

"Wait, what?"

He chuckles a bit. "You don't even have a driver's license. You're fifteen, pal."

Now that I think of it, my legs did seem to feel a little shorter. I look down and realize with a groan that I landed before my last growth spurt, right into puberty.

Bummer, I'm five seven again.


	2. Getting Started

I'm in New York.

More specifically, the New York of the Castle universe.

This will definitely take some time to get used to. First point on the agenda: Get out of the hospital.

According to _freaking_ doctor Davidson, I'm supposed to be discharged today. The sooner I get out of here, the better. One of the nurses is already giving me looks, after I asked to get some kind of internet access to check something (read: to google Richard Castle), but she just asked if I had any idea how much that would cost her.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that this is the year oh-nine. I should've seen it sooner, with me being back in my fifteen year old body. If my passport I for whatever reason had on me is to be believed, I still have the same birthday and the same birth year, which sadly means that I'll have to go to school. Again. Given that I was already at university in my reality, this shouldn't be much more than passing the time, really, but if it is anything like my old school, this could turn out to be most annoying.

While I am thinking about what to do, I don't see the nurse until she's standing directly in front of my bed. I'm glad that she's not the one I asked for internet. In fact, she's quite the looker… Ugh, bad brain! It wouldn't even be legal anymore here, with me being a minor. It won't be easy to have a twenty-year-old's mind in a fifteen-year-old's body. Although, it could've been worse. I could've been thirty before.

"Hey, John. It's time to get you discharged. Your driver's waiting already."

I stay silent at the fact that I apparently have a driver. I have no idea where I'm going, but it looks like my urge to punch the G-Man in the face diminishes every hour. He seems to have thought of everything, including how to get a minor out of the hospital without raising red flags anywhere. At least I hope so.

"I'm fine, I don't need a wheelchair," I reply distractedly.

The nurse only gives me a small smile. "If you really want to get out, you'll have to get into the wheelchair. Hospital policy: You leave either in a coffin or a wheelchair," she adds with a wink.

In response I let myself plop down in the chair without saying another word.

The nurse smirks before getting behind me. "That's what I thought."

"The way you wield fear, you should join the army," I hear myself saying. _Foot, meet mouth._

I brace myself for her possibly harsh reaction, but she only gives me a playful shove and softly laughs a little before pushing me into the elevator.

I'll just go ahead and blame what just happened on my youthful adorableness.

I almost sigh with relief when the elevator chimes, signaling our arrival at the ground floor. Did I mention that I can't wait to get out of here?

My mouth snaps shut loudly after falling open at the monstrous stretch limousine out front.

_Someone's gone all out, it seems. Thank you, G-Man._

A sixtysomething man with neatly parted grey hair, a black suit and tie, climbs out as I am rolled through the main entrance, and walks around the car to welcome me. Thanking the nurse with a smile, I stand up.

The driver opens the rear door for me and greets me with a short incline of the head.

"It's so good to see you up and running, mister Gerthson. I couldn't help but to come myself once I heard of your recovery. Come now, you surely want to get back to the loft."

I'm momentarily distracted by the poshest british accent I've ever heard, but he completely loses me at 'loft'. As in, I'm to live in a freaking _loft,_ or so it seems. I don't quite know what I'm supposed to do here, but the benefits are beginning to stack up. Rolling with the punches has brought me through life so far, so why change a running system? Okay, granted, that sounds a bit hollow, with being in another dimension and all, but I think I made my point.

As I climb into the back of the car, I can only marvel at all the leather and the extras it has.

"I assume everything is to your satisfaction?"

When I look up, I can see the elder man smiling warmly in the rear mirror. I can only nod, as I continue to soak up everything in my vicinity.

Only when I feel the car stop, I can tear myself away from it. Not that I have never seen luxury in my life, but… damn, this is awesome.

I open the door and find myself in an underground garage, presumably below the apartment building where the loft is.

Having no idea where to go, I silently follow the man who I assume to be a butler. I don't know anything about him, not even his name, and now it's too awkward to ask him. _Roll with the punches,_ I repeat in my head like a mantra.

The butler has to turn a key to activate the lift for the loft. While we're going up, it plays a soft melody, I think it's "The boy from Ipanema".

When the chime announces our arrival, the doors open up to a treasure trove for geeks, having top of the line electronics (for oh-nine). Plus, the furniture isn't bad either.

"Welcome to your humble refuge."

I snicker a little bit at 'humble'. "Have you seen a… friend of mine… lately? Accurate hairstyle, always wears suits, blue-green eyes, about forty-five years old?"

"I assume you mean the G-Man."

It's more a statement than a question. Figures that the butler is in on my secret origin.

"That's the one."

"No, but I was instructed to answer any questions you may have."

"Are you a butler?"

"Among other duties, yes. First and foremost, I am to help you integrate into this reality."

I exhale loudly. "That's a relief. So, while we're at it… Why me?"

The butler seems to contemplate his answer a little bit. "I do not know. Little is known about your mission. The G-Man is very secretive."

"That's an understatement," I scoff. Although I have to wonder if he's not just as tight-lipped about the mission as the G-Man. Anyhow…

"I feel a little awkward asking this, but… what's your name?"

This obviously cracks the offish butler's shell a bit, because he outright laughs at me. "I was wondering when you were going to ask, young lad. I must admit, you kept a stiff upper lip about it for longer than I would have expected from you."

I have to admit, I'm somewhat disgruntled at his concession. Might as well call him Limey behind his back until he gives me a name. "Well, I'm new in this universe, despite my backstory the G-Man certainly gave me. So when someone was outside the hospital able to pick up a minor without raising red flags, I didn't ask many questions. You could be a part of my backstory or you could be aware of my true story, or both. In neither case, saying anything before now would've helped."

"At least they didn't send an utter moron like last universe," Limey snorted. "You may call me Barrymore."

I cross my arms. "You actually want me to believe that you, as a butler, have the same name as the one from 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'?"

It feels slightly disturbing to see the old man wink. "I said you may call me that. I never said it was actually my name. It'll do."

He takes a remote out of his pocket and pushes a button on it. A portion of the wall slides aside, revealing a hidden training room filled with all kinds of weapons, from nunchucks over bo staffs, and swords and bows to pistols.

"We will soon begin your training. No matter your mission, knowing how to defend yourself will come in useful."

My eyes are slightly glazed as I take in the view in front of me.

"Training in martial arts. Top of the line gadgets, weapons and electronics. No living next of kin, at least in this dimension. As close to a mansion as one can get in New York. Tons of money, apparently…" I count on the fingers of my hand.

"Am I Batman?"


	3. Two's A Crowd

" _Training in martial arts. Top of the line gadgets, weapons and electronics. No living next of kin, at least in this dimension. As close to a mansion as one can get in New York. Tons of money, apparently…" I count on the fingers of my hand._

" _Am I Batman?"_

Barry lets out a soft rumble that's probably supposed to be a laugh. "Hardly, sir."

"You're right, I think I'm not depressed enough," I quip.

"I fear… you won't have time to… remedy that. We need you… immediately, Mr Gerthson."

I snap around to the stiff figure of the G-Man. His face of course is bare of any emotion, as always.

"G-Man, he's not ready yet. We didn't have the chance to train even a single time," Barry argues.

"We are aware of… his state, agent," the alien dispatcher says coolly and acknowledges the butler's interruption with an icy look. "We are prepared for this… eventuality, too."

He reaches into a pocket of his suit and pulls out a pair of sunglasses that are eerily familiar, but I can't place where I've seen this kind of glasses already.

"Another universe has… achieved a flawed version of… this device. Don't worry, I've designed this one myself," he adds with a very creepy half smile. "I've taken the… liberty to add… more data about this universe among… other useful things. You might know these as… the Intersect glasses."

Oooh, _that's_ why they looked familiar. Originating from the Chuck universe, this miniature supercomputer uploads itself into the human brain via encoded images. Placed into the subconsciousness, it can only be accessed through a special trigger, like saying the name of a person whose file is in "the Intersect", or showing the image it was encoded with. The data that can be stored varies from personnel files over correspondences up to muscle memory, language memory and so on.

Which is pretty awesome, if you ask me. You can know Kung Fu or French, for example, in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, this data is only available for a relatively short amount of time, such as for the duration of a fight. Otherwise, your brain would overload with all the information you accessed over time. Well, the electric impulses it sends out _do_ fry your brain, eventually. At least they do in the version I know, which G-Man has fittingly described as flawed. I rather like my brain, actually, so I really, really hope he knows what he's doing.

"Anything special to look out for?" I ask, giving in to my fate.

"Be aware that the… first upload will be slightly… overwhelming."

_No kidding…_

I take the glasses from him, take a deep breath and put them on. However, instead of starting with the upload immediately, it first scans my eyes, changing from red to green and displaying "Identity confirmed" on both lenses afterwards.

Then the upload starts.

Images flash by, leaving behind a small digital imprint in my brain's neural network. I see everything from a baby with a teething rattle to torture and cruise missiles, from scary clowns to storks on a roof.

It goes on for about an hour or so, then the display reads "Upload successful" before fading to black again. I pull off the now fried glasses and shake my head.

"How long was that? I've spent an hour with that thing, didn't I?" I groan.

"Hardly. You've been… uploading for the past… three minutes and forty-seven seconds. The Intersect has… most likely interfered with your… perception of time."

"Alrighty then," I get out before the world starts spinning around me and everything turns black.

* * *

I wake up with a gasp when I feel icecold water drenching my face and my clothes. Standing above me is Barry, holding an empty bucket in his hand.

"Look who's awake," he greets me with a grin.

"And to think I considered you a potential father figure in this dimension just moments ago," I growl back, to which the butler only laughs.

Not that I'm not a morning person. Very much so, in fact, but everything is worse with a headache worthy of a hangover of the year award.

"I hope this piece of sh… iny technology was worth this mother of all headaches! How long was I out?" I ask.

Barry smirks when he answers. "As long as it took me to find the bucket, fill it with water and come back."

Ugh, this man is infuriating. "My parents taught me to be respectful to my elders, but you are really tempting me to act against my upbringing."

Barry only laughs even harder. He turns around and walks into the mini dojo, obviously expecting me to follow. I shortly consider defying him, but it isn't worth the effort. If he worked with greater nutjobs than I am, which he apparently did as he said himself, it wouldn't even piss him off in the least. I sniff at the fact that I'm very, very bad at being a bad boy.

When I enter the room I only hear a sharp whistling from my right. I sidestep the wooden practice sword and pull the perpetrator at his hands grasping the hilt right into my elbow.

"That. Was. AWESOME!" I exclaim staring at my hands in disbelief.

"Depends on who you ask," Barry mutters as he stands up. He sounds a bit muffled, mainly because his hand covers his nose and mouth. "At least we know now that the Intersect works."

Only then I see the little droplets of blood seeping through his fingers. "Oh, my god. Did I break your nose? I'm so sorry, Barry!" I exclaim, not even sarcastically.

His muffled voice sounds distinctly disgruntled. "I'm fine. Or rather, I had worse, sprog. Here's your mission."

I take the folder he pushes against my chest and open it. A mugshot falls out, along with an address with a time, and a shortened criminal record, which identifies the face as appendant to a known terrorist bomber, a currently wanted one at that.

"I take it I am to stop him?"

"I knew you were a quick learner. Leave him alive and bring him to the backdoor of the building. There, I will wait with the car. We'll see to it that he falls into the hands of the FBI."

I shrug in response. "Sounds good to me. When do we go?"

I could swear I see an evil glint in his eyes when he answers. "How about… now?"

* * *

When he pulls up about fifty yards away from the address, I see a banner hanging at the building front, advertising the event happening this evening, a book release party for… 'Storm Fall'?

"Ooooh… shit…"


	4. Way Too Meta For Me

_When he pulls up about fifty yards away from the address, I see a banner hanging at the building front, advertising the event happening this evening, a book release party for… 'Storm Fall'?_

" _Ooooh… shit…"_

"You recognize this place, then?" Barry asks from the driver's seat. I swear I can hear him smirk back here.

"You knew it all the time since you gave me the file, didn't you?" It's more a statement than a question, really.

The old man even manages to feign a somewhat believable hurt expression for me to see in the rear mirror. "Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

_Don't play coy, buddy. I know you knew._

Instead of calling his bluff, I rather move on to more pressing matters. "Any intel on where to actually find him?"

Barry only shrugs. "Nothing concrete at least. Get to the top floor where the release party is happening and try to find him there. The rest of the building is locked tight, apparently they rather expect a crazed fan than a bombing."

_Great, just great…_

I shrug the suit jacket on that has been lying on the back seat. of the limousine.

"Don't forget, I'll be in the back."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, _dad_ ," I snark.

With that, I make my way up to the building's entrance. I show my ID to the bouncers who check it against their list. To my pleasant surprise, I am indeed on the list. I am on the list for a book release party with the real persons from the show! Oh, if only my fellow Castle fans could see me now, they'd be green of envy.

Well, not of the 'catching a terrorist' part maybe, but still.

When I get into the elevator to the roof and the doors close, soft music is playing. I recognize it as 'the boy from Ipanema'. Again. Seriously, what is it with elevators in fancy buildings and bossa nova?

The elevator softly dings and opens its doors to reveal a whole new world for me. The roof is buzzing with life and chatter and laughter; if it were not for the bombastic view over New York City, you might think you're in the middle of a fancy club.

Well, color me impressed. Or rather, overwhelmed. I'll have to concentrate to keep my eyes on the objective. But it won't hurt to mingle a bit, right?

As I weave through the crowd I catch a quick glimpse of _the_ Richard Castle, although that isn't that hard, to be honest. He's the guy in the corner who's getting lit up almost constantly by the photographers' flashes. No wonder he wears sunglasses in the middle of the night.

I'm tempted to ask for an autograph (but not on my chest like many others - that would be just awkward, with me being a guy and all), but considering that I was brought into this specific universe for a reason, I doubt this will stay the only occasion I run into him, so I guess I have a few more opportunities to ask. And I will ask. Because no way I'll be walking through this universe without an autograph of Richard Castle. Mark my words.

It takes at least fifteen minutes, maybe even more, to travel across the roof. I feel like I'm on an expedition instead of a party. Through sheer luck, however, I end up at the second-most important place of the evening, right after the booth with the new books: The bar. With a soft thud I let myself plop down on one of the bar stools. The perfect place to observe. Not only does one look inconspicuous sitting at a bar, the mirrored back provides excellent angles for the entire roof. Kudos to the man who placed the bar in the corner. Must've read one too many spy novels. Or more specifically, Derrick Storm novels.

I don't even bother ordering a glass of champagne. Not only would it be unprofessional to drink "on the job", it's not even legal age-wise. I hate my new old age.

A coke it is, then.

The barkeeper gives me a wry look before putting the glass in front of me. Seems like they're not used to serve minors.

"Another one for me, too, please, and hurry up, before my dad tries to get me round to drink champagne. Again."

I turn my head to look at the person the new voice belongs to. You can imagine my surprise to see a familiar redhead looking up from her books and smiling at me.

"Which is of course wildly inappropriate for minors like us, right?" I stage-whisper back.

"Could you please tell him that? He thinks I'm the only one my age who doesn't drink alcohol. And I still have to learn for my physics test next week, ugh!" she exclaims and throws up her hands in exasperation.

Which, incidentally, topples the near empty glass of coke in front of her. Which happens to fall in my direction, which I happen to catch, thanks to the Intersect, of course. There's no way in hell I could've have reacted so fast before. Not even when I was still 'almost-professionally' playing Snap.

"Ninja skills," I answer her unasked question. It's not even a lie, if you think about it.

"You know that's something my dad would say," she tells me with a slight grin.

"Your dad sounds like a handful." I reply in a similar fashion.

I think I hear her muttering something along the lines of "You have no idea", but as she says it with a hidden grin and a headshake, I leave it well enough alone.

"I'm Jonny. Jonny Gerthson," I say and extend my hand.

She shakes the offered hand with a small smile, but not before putting her glass out of range. "Alexis. Alexis Castle."

I feign slight surprise and raise a single eyebrow. "Well, that explains why you're here, but not why you're learning physics at a book release party."

She sighs and buries her head in her hands. "It's not that I'm not good with physics. I'm just always freaking out a little before an exam if I didn't spend every possible minute on learning."

I shrug and sip at my coke. "Like my old teacher said, 'Physics is easy, once you know how to do it'." That may be a little unfair, given that I already have three semesters electrical engineering under my belt in my old dimension, but she can handle the teasing.

"Shut up," she grumbles. I only laugh.

Alexis narrows her eyes at me. "Why are you here, by the way?"

 _Oh dear, here we go._ "I'm supposed to meet my Uncle Barry here, but I haven't seen him yet." As soon as I said it, I see my target appear in the edges of my vision. I crane my head so I can see him in the mirror. "Which just changed, I think."

"The mirror trick, huh? Going for the classics; nice."

"What can I say, I'm an old soul." I motion to the barkeeper for a pen and paper and scribble down my number.

I push it over to her and smile at her questioning look. "If you ever have problems with physics or math… let's just say I might've been an engineer in another life." I chuckle at my inside joke. "Or you could call for no reason at all, really."

With a wave and a wry smile, I leave the bar. I've got a terrorist to catch-22.


	5. Party Crashers Out

After I leave Alexis at the bar, I weave through the crowd, slowly making my way over to the terrorist threatening to blow this place to pieces, along with the Castle family and possibly Kate Beckett, not to mention all the other guests at the party.

I don't know how a terrorist is supposed to look like, but I'm pretty sure this guy does not look like that. With the expensive suit, the Ivy League haircut and the clean-shaven face, he looks more like a lawyer than a terrorist. I suppose for some, this is one and the same, but that's a thought for another day.

The bastard dares to spot a smug grin while sipping from his champagne flute. Don't get me wrong, I like it when things go boom, my old chemistry teachers can attest to that, but you should blow stuff up responsibly.

And always wear your seatbelt.

Anyway, I still don't know how to take him out, especially given that there's probably over a hundred people here, not to mention security. Then it hits me.

Or more specifically, the Intersect hits me. With a flash of information on how to take out a guy silently. I mentally sift through the options, a bit disgruntled with the choices. I'm at a book release party, not on a battlefield! Then I find a few that seem to be preferred by spies. I'm not exactly in the spy business, but the clandestine approach is perfect.

With newfound confidence I walk up to my target. I tap him on the shoulder and he turns around.

"Sean?! I knew it was you!" I exclaim with a large smile on my face and pull the surprised man into a bear hug, which he awkwardly returns, the hand holding the flute stretched out while the other pats my back.

He's maybe four inches taller than I, so it (hopefully) doesn't look so suspicious that I pull him down at his neck, because pulling him down is not the only thing I do with his neck. I palpate it for the exact spot and before the guy realizes what I'm doing, I already press down hard once I've found it. The guy slumps down in my arms, unconscious, and the flute that escapes his paralyzed hands bursts into pieces when it hits the ground.

God, I love pressure points.

I put his arm around my shoulders and drag him to the emergency exit. Judging by the lack of distained looks, this is not a rare sight.

"Excuse me, sir. This area is off limits. What are you doing here with him?" a security guy asks me and points at the unconscious figure slung around my shoulders.

"Oh, this guy just had too much to drink and fell asleep. Is there a way out other than the front entrance? I'm sure he would appreciate it if his drunk face didn't appear on page six tomorrow, don't you think?" I explain with a wry smile.

He nods back knowingly and opens the door to the stairway.

"Thanks, pal."

Wow. Didn't think this would work, but hey, I'll take what I can get. If you act as if you belong somewhere, most people don't question you. I may be only fifteen years old, but the way people acted around me I might as well be thirty. Seriously, with security like this, I'm wondering how they managed so long without an incident.

I take him down the stairs, which isn't that easy, considering the guy weighs at least one-fifty pounds and is unconscious. I constantly have to look out for not tripping over him or getting pulled down by the guy. Ugh, why did I take the stairs again? The door that marks the exit finally comes into view and thankfully, is unlocked. I wonder if I could get back in afterwards? Maybe mingle a little bit so no one takes notice of me leaving at the same time with this guy…

Anyhow, Barry is already standing outside, leaning against the limo. He smirks when he sees me struggling with the dead weight around my shoulders.

"A little help here?" I wheeze. He comes around and takes the unconscious man from me with little effort.

"Looks like we have to work on your physical condition," he remarks deadpan as he throws the guy in the back.

I answer with a growl. "Shut up." I bow down to pick up a little wooden wedge to hold the door open while I'm… busy… with our catch.

Mission accomplished.

"Judging by your grin, everything went without a hitch?" he inquires.

"Yep."

"What kind of bomb did he use?"

My head snaps back up. "What?"

"You know, how did it look? Had the Intersect a make and model for it?"

My mouth opens and forms an O. "Daaaaaaamn…"

Barry stops what he's doing and stares at me with open mouth. "Please don't tell me you forgot the bomb," he groans.

"Well… kinda…"

"You moron!" he explodes. "I get this assignment and have actually hopes everything will be going better than the last times, and the guy they send seems to actually have a brain for a change, and then he forgets to _disarm the bloody bomb_ when he has to catch a _bomber on the job._ "

Yeah, well, I kinda deserved that.

He motions into the back of the car. "Get in!"

I don't budge. "Really? Why are we going? I thought I should disarm the bomb first."

Barry actually facepalms at that. "We're not going anywhere until that bomb is disarmed. But we have no idea where the damn thing is, so you are going in there and reverse whatever karate mumbo jumbo you did to that bastard and get the location out of him!"

"I have you know that I pushed a pressure point, that's not karate mumbo jumbo," I huff as I get into the back of the stretch limo.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Barry grumbles.

Thanks to the Intersect, I know which point wakes him up again. When I push it, the guy shoots up and bumps his head into the ceiling.

"Hi there," I greet him with a big smile. "How about you make it easy for yourself and just tell me where you hid the bomb?"

The guy is still dazed and I can tell he's freaked out that I know about the bomb and that he doesn't know where he is.

"What bomb?" he groans.

"Do we really have to do this?" I sigh. "Can't we just hide his body and get this over with?" I whine to Barry. Of course I won't do it...

… but he doesn't know that.

"You can't do that," he screeches. At least he doesn't have the smug grin on his face anymore.

"Well, that would be true if I were law enforcement. Problem is, I'm more like a… private contractor, if you will. I'm sure the FBI is _dying_ to get more acquainted with you. Now if you would kindly tell me where you planted the bomb, I would be much obliged. Oh, don't look so surprised that I know of the bomb. I even give you a choice. You tell me what I want to know, I knock you out, I give you to the FBI. Or, I hurt you until you tell me what I want to know, I knock you out, I give you to the FBI. What will it be, hm?"

"I'll talk, I'll talk!" he exclaimed, his voice now having reached a rather disturbing falsetto. "It's on the twenty-sixth floor, directly under the roof. It's in the supply closet closest to the south-eastern corner, at the support beam. But it's already activated, you can't disarm it anymore!"

I smirk. "Let me worry about disarming it; but thank you for your cooperation. The FBI thanks you."

With that, I sock him right in the face, knocking him out cold.

"I'll keep him under wraps until you've done your bloody job. Moron."

Guess it will take some time for Barry to warm up again. Batman has a father figure for a butler. Lara Croft has a father figure for a butler. And I get an old man who calls me moron. This is just great.

I go back into the building and look up. Great, climbing fifty-two flights of stairs. I can't wait. Really. But I rather look on the bright side. This time I don't have an unconscious body threatening to pull me down.

About fifteen minutes later, I finally arrive at the twenty-sixth floor, panting as if I just ran a goddamn marathon. Excuse the cuss, but believe me, after fifty-two flights of stairs, you would cuss, too.

Now where the hell is south-west?

To my pleasant surprise, the rooms are labeled after the cardinal direction they're facing. South… South… West. I jog across the hallway and look out for a broom symbol or something similar significant.

Finding the door I was looking for, I try the door knob.

Locked. Just my luck.

I place my foot an inch to the side of the lock and kick down hard. No dropkick, no shoulder ram, but it gets the job done. The door creaks under my weight and gives in. It's not even as loud as I had imagined.

This mission is awesome. Getting the Intersect, using pressure points, fighting terrorists, kicking in doors, hopefully disarming bombs… where's my hot superspy sidekick?

Once I'm in, I turn on the light. No sense running blind. Well, that was slightly unnecessary as it turns out. The big blinking mess with the countdown is not hard to spot.

I rush over.

Forty-seven seconds left.

The Intersect mentally knocks before it dumps the blueprints to the bomb into my brain. At least it has learned at least a little common courtesy.

Looks like I'm not the only moron today. The bomber was right when he said it couldn't be 'deactivated' - at least in the original sense. The electronics that would detonate the bomb are openly lying on the ground. Even if it would set off the bomb if I cut a wire, the circuits are unprotected. Which means, I smash my boot into the circuit board. I'm not sure if it worked, as the display fritzed out, but I'm still alive, so I have at least that going for me, which is nice.

After a very long minute in which the bomb apparently opted to stay put, I let out a sigh.

Interesting first day "at work". At least I don't have to go buy new pants.


	6. Glug-Glug Boom

Once the bomb is disarmed and I am safely back in the confines of the stretch limo, Barry plunges a syringe into the terrorist's arm with enough force to make me cringe, despite the fact that it's not me who is on the wrong end of the needle.

"What are you injecting him with?" I don't really wanna know, but I ask anyway.

"A little wonder drug that wipes his short term memory clean. Along with a little tiny amount of my home-brewed tranquilizer, he might as well wake up in a car wreck in the desert and have no idea he wasn't in an accident."

"That's… totally not creepy and I'm sure you don't know this from experience. No problem at all over here."

Barry grins smugly. "That's what I thought."

For me, grown up in a rural area, New Yorks nightlife is quite a sight to behold. It's not even midnight and the city is still buzzing with life. Our unconscious pal in the back is not.

Such a downer.

"Something crazy's going to happen, isn't it?" I ask.

"How did you guess? We prep him and let him be found via an anonymous phone tip. You don't have to be a superspy to know that."

I wouldn't know the first thing about that, but I'm pretty sure Barry knows his stuff. For all I know, he could be a spy in a former 'life'. 'Reality'. 'Whatever'. Or a saboteur in the French resistance. Who knows? Anyhow, I probably would've escorted our pal in the back into the closest FBI office and be done with it.

To my surprise, we stop at the loft.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Get out. You did not half-bad, if you don't count the missed bomb; it was more than I honestly expected from you, actually. But this is out of your league, lad. Go enjoy a job well done. Moron." the gruff butler says. I think in the meantime, 'moron' became a sort of endearment he uses for me. I might be wrong about it, but I like to think so, anyway.

I nod to the door man as I step into the elevator and press the button for the penthouse loft. I go back over everything crazy that happened to me in the past (conscious) day to the sounds of 'The Boy from Ipanema'. Weird how they don't even bother changing the music once in a while.

Anyhow, while disarming a bomb with less than a minute to go is surely exhilarating, to say the least, it's really bad once the adrenaline wears off. Just saying.

I can barely pull myself over to the couch before I collapse and…

* * *

I wake up with a gasp to find myself drenched in ice-cold water, and Barry standing in front of me with an empty bucket and a smug grin on his face; one I'm willing to wipe off… once I'm awake.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" He yells happily.

"Shut up or go away, preferably both… besides, it's scientifically proven that waking people like this is detrimental for their health."

"I know, and I don't care," Barry says with a smile. "In our line of work, what is a minute more off our natural life expectancy, eh?"

He slaps me hard on the back. Ouch.

"Can you switch the tv on?" I ask Barry. "Preferably cartoons." I yell after him as he vanishes into the kitchen already.

When I finally get up grumbling, I scuffle through the cold hallway and enter the kitchen only to find Barry standing frozen at the counter with a slack jaw over a bowl of cereals. I haven't known him for long, but even I know that if Barry looks like this, there's only one admissible reaction.

_Oh… shit…_

My head slowly turns to the screen which, of course, shows the news.

" _... will not rest until this cruel murderer is brought to justice."_

" _Captain Montgomery, what are you doing to achieve this?"_

" _Well, of course I can't disclose anything about ongoing investigations, but I can tell you that I put my best team on the case. I'm confident Detectives Beckett, Ryan and Esposito will catch the killer."_

" _Thank you Captain Montgomery. This was Jane Valderamma for Channel 6, reporting from the crime scene of a murder that shakes the city. Infamous terrorist Jack Harper was found dead this morning almost on the doorsteps of the twelfth precinct. Channel 6 will keep you updated."_

The image collapses into a black screen as Barry turns off the tv.

"Well, that went slightly worse than expected," he deadpans.

"No kidding, Barry. What made you think killing the guy we're supposed to deliver to the FBI, on the freaking _doorsteps of the twelfth_ of all places, was a good idea? Because even a moron such as myself can tell you, that was not a good idea."

"I know that myself, lad. Why didn't you tell me that the guy had drunk alcohol?" he grumbles.

I stare at him in shock. "That's it? That's the whole dilemma about? He freaking died because of a single champagne flute?" I guffaw. "Oh, that's precious."

"Shut your trap," the butler slash inadvertent murderer growls. "The concoction is perfectly safe, unless it meets alcohol in the blood. Then the following chemical reaction can be quite… volatile… if given enough time. They probably found him either with a big hole or without lower body."

Meanwhile, I'm clutching my sides because I'm laughing my ass off.

Then it knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" Barry yells.

"NYPD; we want to talk with you about a murder that took place this morning."

_Oh… shit…_

* * *


	7. First Impressions

Barry swallows loudly and moves to open the door and I follow, but he turns around before reaching the door and presses me against the wall.

"No snitching," he whispers harshly, turning to the door again already and yelling "I'm coming!" to the familiar voice outside.

When he opens the door, me in tow, a tall brunette in a red coat stands outside with a professional smile on her face, her badge in her hand, and a boyish looking irishman standing behind her. Judging by the looks, the murder tore them from their sleep a few hours ago.

"Detectives Kate Beckett and Kevin Ryan, NYPD. We have a few questions for Jonathan Gerthson, if you don't mind."

Barry moves to the side and opens the door wide. "Sure, no problem. Please come in. He's right here."

We transfer the talk from the doorstep to the living room, where we all sit down on the cushy sofas. Time to make her squirm.

"Nice to meet you, detectives," I say as I shake their hands. Then I narrow my eyes at Beckett. "Didn't I see you yesterday at Rick Castle's book release party?"

Her mouth pulls together to a flat line. "Maybe," she answers with a monotone voice, as if it is embarrassing for her. "I was there, but for another reason."

"Oh? So you're a fan of his work then, too? I loved his work since I was a kid. What with justice always being served, I think." Which is pretty ironic, given that I try to make the exact opposite happen in this case.

"No… Yes. But that's not… I was there for another case. Now, do you recognize this man?"

She pulls out a photo of a man and slaps it on the table in front of me.

As expected, it is the guy I… apprehended… last night.

"Yeah, that's the guy who slumped into my arms last night. Is he the victim or the suspect?" I ask.

"... Victim. So he just… happened to fall into your arms?" she asks.

"Pretty much, yeah. I tipped him on the shoulder, because he kinda looked like my uncle from behind. He turned around and apparently that was not good for his balance because he literally fell into my arms. Judging from his breath, he had one flute too much, I say. He whispered something of a limo waiting for him outside before he blacked out entirely."

"And what did you do then?" Ryan speaks up.

"I couldn't just leave him there lying on the dance floor, could I? As he already had a limo waiting, I took off for the nearest exit and took him downstairs with me. I figured, the people there are mostly rich, which means easy prey for the scandal sheets' page six. If nothing else he shouldn't have to endure that. Vultures, the whole lot of them. I took him down the stairs and out the back exit, where a limo waited already for him. The driver climbed out and took him with him, but I didn't want to go back to the party because my suit had sweat patches on it from the exertion of pulling him with me quite a couple of stairs. So I called Barry and returned to the loft."

This time it's Beckett again. "Let's say I believe you. Can anyone confirm that?"

Not that I could hold thinking that against her. But it hurts a little that a lie so close to the truth is absolutely unbelievable to her.

"Well, I'll answer that, although it almost sounds as if I'm a suspect. There was a security guy who saw me leave with him from the rooftop, then the driver who took him from me, then Barry here picked me up, then the night shift's door man saw me when I came here to sleep shortly after midnight. I think that accounts to something, yes?"

"Of course, Jonathan." "Please, call me Jonny." "Fine. Of course, Jonny. You're not a suspect," _anymore_ , "you're a person of interest. We're just piecing the final hours of the victim's life back together, and you're one of the last persons to have seen him alive. I think he would've been grateful to be kept out of the scandal sheets' clutches, by the way," she says with a small smirk forming on her face.

Apparently she likes reporters as much as I do.

She and Ryan stand up, wanting to leave.

"Here's my card. If you can think of anything useful, give me a call."

Considering she's investigating a terrorist's murder, she's surprisingly calm and collected. Not a single peep that would tell this is a special case. Well, she _is_ a by-the-book cop.

"If I wouldn't know any better, I'd say people are starting to drop like flies around me," I say as I accompany the two detectives to the door.

Kate Beckett's head turns around. "Not the first murder in your vicinity recently?"

I snort. "I'm in New York. Of course it's not the first murder in my vicinity. But anyway, my friend Alison was found murdered yesterday. Such a shame. She was such a bright young woman. I liked her, you know. Not 'like like' her, but I admired her work. From socialite to social worker. Hey, that's a good headline."

The detective stops in her tracks and faces me completely. "Alison Tisdale, the 'heiress' to the Tisdale Imperium?"

"That's the one. Although I wouldn't say heiress. Sounds weird. You knew her?"

She looks a mite uncomfortable."No... I'm investigating her murder."

"It has to be so hard for her brother. First the financial problems, and now his sister is dead. Well, at least the financial problems will be gone when his father eventually succumbs to his cancer. Not that it would lessen the grief, and that's a totally dark thought, I know, but what else can you see optimistically in this whole mess?" I say with a shake of the head.

She chews on her lip, but stops after a few moments when she realizes what she's doing. "Huh. That's interesting. Thank you for your time, Jonny."

"Anytime."

The seed of doubt is planted. Let's hope she and Castle will get the hint.

The two detectives walk for the elevator, while I close the door and slide down with my back to it. Didn't think they would work this fast. Well, didn't think they would work this case at all. It's all Barry's fault.

Moron.

* * *


	8. Internal Affairs

It's been a few days since the two detectives paid us a visit, and it hasn't been pretty. Barrymore's actions on the 'mission' didn't go unnoticed with his higher-ups in this ominous company the G-Man works for. I had to stay back each time they brought him in for questioning, and each time he came back with a bigger raincloud over his face.

I hadn't known they were so strict about their missions. It's like a job, really. Which annoys me to no end. Granted, the benefits are great, but I'm an engineer, not a superspy. I don't need the thrill of near-death-experiences to enjoy life.

Now, four days after the incident, they are finally going to question me. I'm so not looking forward to it. The G-Man even came by to accompany me, but his presence doesn't do much to calm my nerves. He takes me to a room in the loft I wasn't allowed in before. The white-painted room is naked, save for the pedestal in the middle.

"Don't... worry, Mr. Gerthson. The Elders don't... bite," he assures me when he sees my doubtful look. "They do... demand respect, but... you have nothing... to fear. Your... mission allows way more... leeway than your butler's."

He crosses the distance to the pedestal, but I stay back at the door, trying to process what he just told me.

"Who are the Elders?"

He looks at me over his shoulder. "Essentially, you can... think of them as... some sort of... Internal Affairs Division for my... employer's company."

His measured and broken cadence of his voice are really starting to piss me off, but that might be because I'm about to meet some crazy powerful people and I just can't deal with him right now.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask, my stubborn streak flaring.

G-Man, probably used to unwilling assets, only chuckles. "You'll see... soon enough."

He lays his hand on the pedestal which scans the hand print and accepts it with a green flash. A loud rumble goes through the room and the walls start groaning in protest.

Following common sense, I try to leave the room, but the instant my foot leaves the ground to back out, I lose balance and crash into the floor ass first. When I tilt my head back, I can only see the door getting farther and farther away. It's almost as if the pedestal tries to suck me in. I scramble back on all fours in some kind of twisted crab walk, but to no avail.

"Struggle is... an illusion, Mr. Gerthson."

With that said, I reach the pedestal. As I've somehow come to expect, everything turns black and the familiar feeling of being stuck on a rack pitches in.

I hate dimension hopping.

When I wake up, I can't open my eyes wide, only enough to see that my hands and feet are strapped with leather cuffs to a wire seat, reminding me a little of an electric chair.

"Don't worry, we're not going to fry you," a loud voice booms, "the restraints are solely to keep you from harming yourself. Interdimensional travel isn't a very gentle process, I'm afraid."

_You don't say._

The voice itself however, although almost painfully loud, has a rather pleasant ring to it and an accent I can't place. Remotely French, maybe? Ugh, I don't know. At least I know it's a female voice, an attractive one at that, so I've got this going for me, which is nice.

I shake my head to get rid of the webbing clouding my brain and force my eyes open. The only light source of the room, a naked light bulb, is burning brightly over my head, dipping the better part of the room in darkness.

A sudden whirring noise makes me look around to figure out where the sound comes from until I'm pressed into the seat as the whole contraption abruptly starts accelerating.

When the chair stops again, the leather cuffs fall off with a clunk, having been held together by strong magnets only.

"They look like a kinkier version of those magnetic healing bracelets or what they're called. I never liked the original. And I definitely don't like this version," I say and rub my wrists gingerly.

"True, true. But as I said, they are necessary, even if they are an inconvenience, especially if the traveler is resisting," The same voice as before says. She sounds almost apologetically.

"I think I would feel better already if you just showed yourself."

"As you wish." I can even hear the shrug that accompanies that.

A row of neon lights flicker alive, the cold light revealing the person behind the bodiless voice I've been hearing.

A woman walks up to the chair, takes my hand and pulls me up with impressive ease. When I stand again, I finally take in the woman before me.

About thirty years old, this woman could easily pass as a Snow White double if not for the soft tan instead of milky white skin. And maybe the hair is a little short for that role, but that's probably just me.

"Thank you," she says with barely hidden mirth.

"Err… you're welcome… for what again?"

Now she's outright grinning. "For comparing me to Snow White, it's one of my favorite fairy tales."

"Oh, did I say that out loud? Shoot, I didn't realize," I mutter as I feel a furious blush creeping up my face.

The woman bites her lip, I'd guess to hide her amusement. "No, Jonathan. We can read minds."

I think if I get any redder, tomatoes will start greeting me as a kinsman.

"Erm, yeah… good to know. Now… I think I have an appointment here? Combusted terrorist, New York, Castle Universe?"

"Yes. We know," I hear, and it's followed by a chuckle.

"Course you do," I grumble. "No offense, but I imagined the Elders to be a bit…"

"Older?" she asks and raises an eyebrow when I nod sheepishly. "Well, time is a rather odd thing in this meta dimension. I am here since before the pyramids of Giza were built."

My eyes get big as saucers. _What the…?_ "You look good for your age." is out of my mouth before I can think of stopping it.

Another chuckle. "Thank you. That's always nice to hear. I'm Cassandra, by the way. I will lead the investigation in your mission's case."

"And what are you trying to find out?" I ask.

In answer, Cassandra gives me a smile. "The truth."

* * *


	9. There And Back Again

"So, Elder… what do you want to know?"

"How about you go back to the start, when you came to the new reality? I was told this was your first mission, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Alright, if you wish…"

With that, I start telling my story in an easy pace, giving an accurate account of what happened up until now, stopping only to answer Cassandra's questions.

* * *

"... and I haven't heard from her since. I know it was a risk letting her know about a few things of the other case she's working, but it was necessary. She has to prioritize and with that, she would have overlooked the wrong details in an otherwise pretty obvious case, giving Castle no chance to solve a murder together. I can't see the future, but as someone put it accurately, I can try to pile up stones to influence the flow of possibilities."

Cassandra quirks an eyebrow. "Awfully poetic, don't you think?"

I shrug in response. "True, but they aren't my words, anyway. Do you know a better analogy?"

"No. I'm not the poetic type, either," she replies with a laugh.

" _Any way you want it, that's the way you need it, any way you want it…"_ a scratchy tune interrupts us. I look around only to realize it's my cell phone ringing.

I pull it out and look at it curiously. "Wow, didn't think that thing would work here. Almost full reception, too. Can I stay here?" I ask with a smile that holds until I see the sharp glare Cassandra throws my way.

"I activated this boon for emergencies only," she tells me with thinly veiled annoyance.

I look on the display, but I don't know the caller. "Unknown number. Huh. I don't even know who has my number. I gave it only to… I should probably take this."

I hold up a finger and accept the call, nonchalantly avoiding eye contact with Cassandra.

"Gerthson… Hi, Alexis. … Of course I can, I promised it, didn't I?... Sure, just text me the problem and I'll see what I can do. … You're welcome; though it could take a little while, I have something on the stove that needs constant supervision. … Oh well, if the class is the day after tomorrow, then there's no problem at all. … Yeah, you, too. Bye!"

I end the call and turn my head up again fearing the worst. True to my fears, the former sharp glare has now taken a murderous form.

A sharp knocking sound disturbs the awkward silence and probably saves me. "NYPD, open up."

Although… now that I think of it… maybe I should stay here.

"What the…? What is going on? I thought we were in another dimension. Cell phone, fine, I can believe that, or at least accept it, but noises from the loft?"

The readiness to kill has vanished from the elder's face and is replaced by a nervous frown. "We _are_ in a different dimension, but I have installed some sort of door bell in yours. Like your cell, in a way. No time to talk further. You have to go back. Right now."

This is just great. That has to be my… third trip this week? I'm wondering if I get bonus miles for interdimensional traveling.

With that thought, I black out. Again.

* * *

A crashing sound from the entrance. The detectives have gained entrance with force then. Great, I have no idea how much the door has cost, but considering the rest of the loft is goshdarn expensive, I doubt the door will be much different.

I'm still in the room with the cursed pedestal. Note to self: Remember to remove this piece of trash as soon as possible. I'm not eager for another trip yet again.

Knowing it to be futile, I don't even try to open my eyes. I'm pretty much content with lying here right now, and the floor isn't so uncomfortable, either; considering, anyway. I swear, Cassandra pulled me back here extra fast as payback for the call. One fact about interdimensional travel I figured out already is that it is way more comfortable the more time you take for it. Kinda like traveling by car. In a weird, twisted way.

When I do get my eyes open, the first thing I notice is the red haze, which, as the Intersect informs me promptly, is caused by bleeding eyes.

Gross.

The door flies open and reveals a bulky person who apparently has a gun trained on me. I have no idea how I'm still conscious with how much pain I'm in, but hey, I take what I can get, right?

"NYPD! Don't move! You're under… oh shit… Yo Beckett! I got 'im! Call an ambulance, right now! The kid's beat up really bad! Hang on, fella. We gotcha."

"It's nothing, bro," I wheeze. Damn, she did me in pretty good there. "Just a little… scratch."

And again it's nap time. Finally.

* * *

"Kid, I don't know how you get to live so dangerously in your age, but I'd suggest refraining from near-death experiences in the future. They're not exactly healthy, you know."

I open one eye and spy who dares disturbing me. The sight, alas, is not an unfamiliar one. A doctor who reminds me way too much of uncle Jessie watches me with a serious face.

Well, there are better things to wake up to. Like breakfast in bed. Or a beautiful woman. Hell, even a happy, slobbering dog in your face is better than waking up in the hospital.

"Damn it, and I wanted to go dimension-hopping just this weekend," I deadpan. "Dr. Davidson was it, right? It's nice to see a familiar face here."

"Yep. But please, don't get yourself injured to meet me. I like you, too, but not in that way."

That makes me laugh, but I realize soon enough that he shouldn't have. "Ha ha, h… ow, don't make me laugh, damn it. I'm sore _everywhere._ And when I say _everywhere,_ I mean _everywhere,_ " I groan.

He pats me on the shoulder and already turns to go. "Well, let it teach you a lesson. That's twice in a week that you spent more than forty eight hours unconscious. Don't make it a habit.

Wait a minute…

" _How long_ was I out?!" I yell.

"Three days. You've even been under police protection the whole time, for whatever reason. Well, now that that's said, I've got other patients to take care of, and you're good to go. So, take care of yourself. Doctor's orders."

 _Well… shit._ I totally forgot that I'm under arrest. Sort of. They didn't read me my Miranda Rights, so if push comes to shove, I've still got an ace up my sleeve. Onto more pressing matters…

_Alexis._

She had a physics problem I was to help her solve. For _yesterday's_ class _. She_ calls _me_ for help, I agree, and then let her hang to dry. Oh boy, I've screwed up badly, haven't I?

I frantically look around in the spartanic hospital room, but no sight of my cell phone. Looks like the police took it. Why do they have to be so thorough?

On the other hand, I have no idea what I would say.

" _Hey, Alexis, I'm sorry I couldn't help you with your problem. I was arrested, but ended up in a hospital instead. Why? Oh, I'm just suffering the side effects from interdimensional travel, don't worry. Oh yes, I sure would like to be sent to the looney bin, thank you very much."_

Chuck. My. Life.

* * *


	10. Negotiations

Apparently being released from the hospital doesn't mean much to the police: I leave the hospital in cuffs and I am brought to the precinct immediately. That the G-Man had new instructions for me just minutes before I'm shipped off to the Twelfth doesn't really better my mood, to be honest.

I push back these thoughts as LT comes to pick me up in the lobby and bring me into the homicide division's interrogation room upstairs, where he tells me to wait.

And I wait.

And wait.

 _Finally,_ after what feels like hours, but was really only about twenty minutes according to my watch, Beckett and Esposito enter the room and take seats across from me.

What do I have to lose, really? Now that I think of it, not much. Hm… let's see if we can throw them off their game a little bit, shall we?

I lean forward with my hands folded and a friendly smile on my face. "Good afternoon, detectives. How can I help you?"

Already I can see Beckett's right eye twitch slightly, but both continue to look straight ahead at me. "You face charges of obstruction of justice, and accessory to murder, you do know that?" she asks deadpan.

"Of course I do!" No, I don't. Nice to know. "And yet, you're 'interviewing' me, a minor, who is all alone in interrogation against two hardened detectives. Isn't someone missing here?... Ah screw that, isn't there a waiver or something I can sign? I'm a big boy, I can handle an interrogation, even from you, Beckett." No, I don't. Maybe? "And you, too, Espo, of course. Wouldn't want to neglect the former Special Forces guy, would I?" I ask rhetorically and lean back in my seat, still with the same smile on my face.

 _Now_ I have their attention. And they even look at each other shocked. Left, right, and straight for the knock out! Okay, not really, but it's a good start.

"How do you know that?" Esposito asks. "No one outside this floor ever calls me Espo, and my past with the Special Forces isn't public knowledge."

Ahem… yeah… so it happens I _can_ get their attention… as it turns out I'm also really bad at planning ahead. And as always when something like this happens, I fall back on what all people who didn't like doing their homework have perfected over the years.

I improvise.

I look around and my gaze settles on the camera in the corner of the room. "I… err… would _really_ like a coffee right now. Detective Beckett, would you mind showing me the way?" I ask, desperately hoping she gets the hint.

She exchanges looks with Esposito, and apparently she wants to go, and Espo asks if she's serious, and she tells him that she can handle a fifteen year old boy. Seasons of reading 'oozing subtext' have made me rather good at this.

"All right. This way." With this, she leaves the table and an uncomfortable looking hispanic detective to walk into the bullpen, expecting me to follow, which I gladly do.

Once we're in the break room (which is hopefully not named in the same fashion as the interrogation room), the coffee machine comes into my view and I really, really want to fast forward to when Castle has already 'donated' a new one to relieve the division from monkey pee on battery acid.

She pours a cup of coffee and wordlessly holds it in my direction to which I only shake my head. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee, I just want to talk."

Beckett shrugs and takes a sip herself from the offered cup. Her frown gets a little deeper when the vile fluid hits her taste buds, but she shows no other reaction. Commendable, surely.

Then she leans back against the counter and watches me intently over the rim of her cup, through the steam of the hot coffee. It's a little bit intimidating that I have to look up to her, but that's probably the four inch heels, at least partially.

"Now, I'm only here as a courtesy, Jonny. You want to talk? Fine, but first, you listen to me: the prosecutor is dying to try you as an adult and make an example out of you. He has to close this case fast and clean, or he can kiss his political career goodbye. I don't say I like this, in fact I really don't like this, but you have to give me something _really_ good to make a deal. So what have you got for me that you couldn't say in front of the camera?"

"What I was going to say has changed a bit after what you just said, but it stayed basically the same: I can give you access to my network." When I see her sceptical expression, I push on. "I'm young to be an information broker, but… let's just say I inherited it. And before you ask, no, there was no criminal activity involved in the process." Unless interdimensional traveling is now outlawed, that is. "Whenever you're stuck, give me a call, I consult my network, and I come back with an answer. My network is also how I knew about your colleague's past, by the way. It won't solve a case for you directly, but I can point you to people you should talk to."

Beckett puts down the cup and crosses her arms. "You come into my precinct, charged with multiple crimes, and expect me to _hire_ you?"

Her perfectly calm tone scares me a little, but I swallow my fear before forcing a smile onto my face.

"To 'hire' me would mean that you'll pay me. Which you won't, whether you accept my offer or not. Aside from the fact that the NYPD paying a minor for his services won't look good in public, I don't need it. Part of said inheritance was also a shitload of money, which allows me to live happily off the interest it's earning without having to work. Ever again. Truth is, I don't want to use my network for the forces of evil, which is what my predecessor did."

_I don't even know the guy, if there ever was one, but yeah._

"Which is also why I haven't sold a single piece of information, even though the offers has been quite lucrative. Fortunately, I don't have to worry about money, so I would much rather put it to good use; and if I'm any good at judging characters, then I'm talking to the right person. You seem to be someone who became a cop to help victims get justice when nobody else does, which means our goals align."

Her eyes narrow at that. "Don't think you know me."

I hold up my hands. "I don't. Just… consider my offer. In exchange for my services, all charges are to be dropped, and as a bonus, I start by helping you catch this 'killer'."

She gives me a flat look and leaves the break room without another word. I'm a bit lost, but after a few seconds of standing around rather dumbly, I follow her, just in time to hear her call for the cop who brought me up here.

"LT! Bring the little one to the holding cells, I have an unpleasant call to make."

Said cop winces, seeming to know exactly what she means by that. Which I don't. But, I am to be brought to the holding cells like a common lowlife anyway, so it's not like I even have to care about that.

He grabs me firmly at the arm and maneuvers me in the direction of the holding cells.

"I'm not little! You're only one or two inches taller than me, the rest are those damn heels," I manage to yell over my shoulder before we turn the corner to the holding cells.

I could swear I hear Ryan snickering.

* * *


	11. Flexing Muscles

After a night in the holding cells, I can honestly say that I've slept on harder cots already. The holding cell is way better than what I had on my camping trip last year.

The one thing I didn't like during my 'jail time' was the solitude. Sometimes it's not that bad to be alone, and you should be really picky about your company in a cell anyway, but I'm a people person. I like to talk. Although, to be honest with myself, I should be glad I'm not in the same cell as a real criminal who might be partial to shutting me up permanently after suffering my rambling for a while.

Alas, it's no use to dwell on the past. The night's over and with luck I'll be working with the NYPD after today. If Beckett is truly considering my offer, that is. The move was a little desperate, I admit. Those work, too, though. From time to time. I enjoy what is left of my stay by dozing on my cot and awaiting the decision.

"Hey, boy-o!" a voice tears me from my thoughts. I know that voice. There's only one Irish in homicide, at least only one who would say boy-o.

"Good morning, detective Ryan," I answer him from my cot without even bothering to open my eyes, although I would have him right in my view, thanks to the cot facing the entrance.

"How did you know that?" he asks. "You know, I don't even want to know. From what I was told about you, the less I know about you, the better."

I snort at that. I'm pretty sure Ryan heard that from Esposito. They are both superstitious. To various extents, of course, and Esposito denies it more vehemently than Ryan (it's bad for his macho image), but they can't fool me. It's kind of adorable.

"Space magic, what else?... Just kidding, I'm an information broker. It's literally my job to know the people I'm dealing with. It's quite interesting what you can find out about someone if you dig a little. Detective Esposito's past with the Special Forces, detective Beckett's mom's murder, your undercover stint on the other side of the river..."

I open my eyes and see Ryan pale until he's ghostly white. "No one here in New York is supposed to know that," he mutters.

"Don't worry, I'm the only one who knows," probably, "I deal with secrets everyday, I know how to keep one. And no matter how today turns out, I will never sell you out."

"Why?" he asks.

"Never met a criminal with honor before?" I joke. "I'm not a bad guy. I want to help you guys." I add more seriously.

At that, he snorts with laughter. "As if Beckett hasn't enough on her plate with that writer Richard Castle following her like a lost puppy."

I sigh inwardly. At least something good came of it. "You arrested the brother for the Tisdale murder yet?"

"How did you... Never mind, the week was weird enough as it is. Yes, we did, the writer helped us actually, he solved the final puzzle with Beckett and was held at gunpoint by Tisdale at one point. Dumbass had the safety on though," he tells me with a chuckle, and I chime in for a few seconds before sobering up again.

"Not to be rude or anything, but did you come here for a reason maybe? I still have to hear from the DA's office if they want to make a deal with me or not."

"Oh, they don't," he tells me with a dismissive wave.

"What," is all I can bring out. Suddenly I can already see my house of lies crashing in around me, which ends with me spending some quality time with my new friends I'll make in jail, who will probably pimp me out in exchange for protection. I swallow nervously. Sometimes, I really hate my imagination.

"They don't want to make a deal," he explains.

I exhale loudly. 'They don't want to' doesn't necessarily mean 'they won't'.

"Actually, I came to take you to the captain. I think he wants to talk about that."

Not everything is lost then.

"Shiny," is all I say when Ryan opens the cell door and takes me with him.

* * *

Captain Montgomery looks up from the files he's working on when Ryan and I walk into his office.

"Is this the young one?" he asks, which Ryan answers with a nod. The captain motions for me to sit. "Thank you, detective Ryan. That would be all."

"But, sir..."

"You. are. Dismissed," the captain adds with a mild, admonishing look on his face. "Please wait outside, detective."

Ryan nods dejectedly and closes the door on his way out.

"Now, son, what I will say will not leave this room, understood?" I nod silently. "I believe it's a little improbable that a fifteen year old boy gets involved in two murder investigations, but as much as I believe that you're innocent, the DA needs a scapegoat, and you are at the wrong place at the wrong time. We can push for a deal, but that little party trick that scared one of my top detectives won't get you there. I'm willing to give you a shot if you can convince me."

Huh, didn't know it was both the Harper and the Tisdale case they want to pin on me. I guess it's understandable, at least. Who would know that much about a case and not be involved? I do have alibis for time of death in both cases, so I'm not accused of murder, but of accessory to murder. Anyhow, despite Montgomery's activities in the past, he's a respectable man who stands by his word. And there have been enough lies already.

"How secure is this room?" I ask.

The captain leans back and has an amused smile on his lips. "We're in the captain's office in the middle of a precinct. It doesn't get much secure than that, not counting jail, that is."

I resist the slight urge to roll my eyes before answering. Either he didn't get it or he toys with me. "I mean against bugs. My information is a potential powder keg, so I won't risk either of our lives by speaking of it with potential listeners."

Now his eyebrows shoot up almost to his former hairline. "What could you possibly have what is that hot to handle?"

Stiffening up in my seat, I fix him with a cool stare. "Don't let my age fool you, captain Montgomery. My network was working well already before I even took it over from my predecessor."

Montgomery steeples his fingers and mulls it over a few long moments before finally nodding. "Alright. Let's say I believe your intel is good, and dangerous. Room's not secure, though. Now what?"

Is he testing me? I have no idea, but I'd not be me if I back down in case he is. I take a few moments, too. I allow a little smirk to show on my face once I figured out what to do.

"Now we do this the old fashioned way. We use pen and paper."

He stares at me incredulously. "How would that work? We can't have a conversation that way."

A soft laugh escapes my mouth. "A, it worked with our friends in school, so why not now? And B, you don't have to write anything, anyway. I write down a few notes about it, you read it, stay silent, decide whether or not to make me a deal, burn the paper and dissolve the ashes in water whether you take it or not."

Montgomery doesn't reply with words but tosses me his notepad and a pen instead. Bet he's curious as hell. I know I would be.

'Pulgatti - Armen - Jo. Beckett - Sen. W.B.' is all I write on it.

I toss it back and keep the pen on my armrest.

Once Montgomery has looked the names over, his face drains of any color.

"Know this: The youngest of the trio that's not on that list and I have similar goals. Safekeeping." I shift my gaze towards the bullpen for a moment, hoping it doesn't go unnoticed. "I will use my network to that goal, too, if you let me."

"You'll get your deal," the man behind the desk mutters hoarsely.

* * *


	12. Manhunt

"You do know the DA's office will want your blood if this case goes wrong?"

I give the frowning woman in front of me a smile born from newfound confidence. "Please, detective Beckett. When would I ever indulge in criminal activities? I'm just a rich kid," I add with a wink.

I can practically sense how she's resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Don't underestimate DA Patterson. He didn't get to where he is now through merit alone. This case is easy prey for the press, and thus mutated from a 'simple' murder case to a potential career-breaker."

I get the subtle feeling she wants to wash out her mouth with soap after saying that.

"Thanks for the concern, detective, but it's a dance I know well. If he can restrain himself until this case is finished, he doesn't have to fear for his career." Hey, that rhymed! "It's never a good idea to piss off an information broker. If you're aspiring to be a politician, only doubly so."

After a few moments of awkward silence, I clap my hands together. "Now, who wants to go catch a killer?... Oh, and by the way… I call shotgun!"

* * *

I lean forward from the backseat and waggle my finger to the intersection. "Take the next left, please."

"Will you tell me now where we are going?" Beckett asks, a little annoyed already.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I singsong.

She only growls from the driver's seat. "That wasn't an answer."

I let my eyebrows dance. "Was too. It just didn't tell you shit."

Beckett fixes me with a death stare through the mirror and slams the brakes. "We won't go anywhere until you tell me exactly where we're going and why," she snaps.

I sigh exaggeratedly and give in, causing Ryan and Esposito to hide their grins they're spotting. "Fine. Spoilsport. We're going to an old factory that is long abandoned. Should've been torn down years ago, but some rare kind of plant or something called the conservationists into action and they stopped the demolition plans, so the owner can neither touch it nor use it. That doesn't keep anyone else out, though. It's a preferred hiding place for everyone from homeless people over squatters to people who don't want to be found."

"And why do you think our suspect will be in this particular building in all the thousands of buildings here in New York?" she demands to know.

"Who's the one with the network at his hands?"

"I want to know why he'll go there, not how you know this." Uh-oh, she's glaring daggers right now. Can I have a bomb to defuse, please? That won't make me nearly as much almost piss my pants when I run my mouth and say stupid things again.

"Okay, okay. He used it in the past and knows some of the veteran guests there. He knows you're looking for him, so he's gonna lay low until he can change his appearance. That's why I told you to broadcast his face all over the local news. That narrows down the places he can go, because he will need help to get out of the city. He won't be able to buy the stuff he'll need himself; hair dye, a false beard, colored contact lenses and so on. And the best place to get in touch with his contacts, pun not intended but gladly accepted, is at this abandoned factory. Happy now?"

She gives me a flat stare, but I see a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Let's call it mollified."

* * *

We and the uniforms' cruiser come to a skiddering halt in the almost darkness of dusk. I stand leaning against the open car door and motion to the ugly building in front of us as Beckett just comes around the car. "He has a favorite place here on the premises where he will probably be hiding. Keep an eye out for hidden compartments in the walls. It's right over there, behind the windows that are still intact."

She gives me a dazzling smile and pats my hand that's still resting on the door. "Thank you, Jonathan, you've been a great help today already. Just… can you do me another favor?"

I grin back at her. "Anything for a beautiful woman, Beckett."

She leans forward and whispers in my ear. "Stay in the car."

Before I realize what she just said, I hear a sound I really don't like.

_Click._

I look down at my hand and find myself handcuffed to the window frame of the car door.

"What… not funny, Beckett!" I hiss loudly as she marches to the entrance I indicated before.

"You have no idea," she laughs over her shoulder, and the other cops don't try well to hide their chuckles either.

Damn, I should've known better. But I even signed these "my lifeless remains cannot sue the city" papers! That's what I get for presenting her a murderer on a silver platter? Unbelievable… I think I have to sneeze… ha… ha… oh, wait, false alarm. I just got a flash from the intersect instead; it had some interesting details about police issued handcuffs. Now where to find a bobby pin… that's not exactly easy as a guy with short hair, by the way… You need to do _what_ now? Wait, I don't need a bobby pin for that, I have glasses!

Hah, call me MacGyver! If I pull the earpiece off one the temples, I can bend it to fit into the keyhole… Aaaand… open! Booyah!

Now, where to go? Ah, there they are; their flashlights are easy to spot, luckily.

I make my way over the gravelly path to the cops that are rifling through the offices. To my surprise, no one bothers to say something when they see me.

"I think you might've gotten the wrong idea, Beckett. Just because I was a bit flirty doesn't mean you can just jump to conclusions and start with bondage on the spot. I'm still jailbait, just so you know."

Beckett's head snaps around at the sound of my voice. "How did you get here?"

I shrug. "On foot. You took the car keys, remember?"

Her eyes narrow dangerously, and I gulp. I can barely keep myself from protecting my ears with my hands.

"Your handcuffs aren't worth shit," I say instead and toss her the bracelets. "Better use it on the bad guys."

"I told you to stay in the car."

"Yes, but you also cuffed me to the door. Your argument is invalid. Now, any luck finding that secret door?"

When I'm met with three shaking heads, I let out a sigh and take a good look around myself. The place is as run down as I imagined. Everywhere is a thick layer of dust. Reminds me a little of my room back at home; I _hated_ dusting off my stuff and cleaning my room. Still do, actually. Thanks to the G-Man I'm now rich enough to afford a cleaning lady. I stop in my tracks as a declaration of independence comes into my view.

I walk over and lift it from its place, revealing a number pad in the wall. The three detectives come over and eye the device suspiciously.

"How did you know there would be something under it? Also from your 'network'?" Esposito asks.

"Dude, the guy's a limey through and through. He probably owns a week's worth set of union jack underwear and sings "God Save The Queen" every evening before going to bed. Why on earth would he leave the american declaration of independence in his favorite spot?"

"What is the pad for? Is it a safe?" Beckett pipes up.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so… there are no gaps in the wall, so there is no opening. Behind the pad, at least… Do you have any fingerprint powder?"

"In the car. Ryan?" Beckett says, and the Irish detective jogs over to their cruiser. After he returns with a can, she sprays the stuff all over the pad and blows it away. When she shines her flashlight on it, there are smudged prints on three numbers.

"I know the model; It's a four-digit-pad. He used one number twice," Ryan says. We all look at him surprised. "An acquaintance of mine used to have one of these," he explains sheepishly.

Esposito stares at the pad. "One, six and seven… Perhaps seventeen hundred seventy six? It was the American Revolution, after all."

I raise an eyebrow. "And the Illuminati were founded, too."

"Oh god, please don't. I've had enough of conspiratorial looneys," Beckett groans.

I glance over to her and grin broadly. "Is Mister Castle too much to handle for you?"

"Shut up and try one-seven-seven-six."

"As you wish, my lady," I oblige with a chuckle.

With the last digit entered, the number pad flashes green and beeps once. A loud hissing from the other side of the room lets us snap our heads around.

* * *


	13. Field Trip

The sound tells me something was just unsealed. Hopefully a door, leading straight to our bad guy, but I file that away under wishful thinking.

As we walk over, I realize that it is at least an opening in the wall. If it is a door, or just an elaborate safe, we'll see.

"There are stairs leading downstairs, detective," one of the uniforms tells Beckett, breaking the silence that has settled in.

Jackpot. Half of it, at least. We all just stand around the new hole in the wall, unsure of what to do.

"Just so you know, Beckett, don't even think about trying to leave me up here again. You and me, we're gonna be like two tunas in a can, two peas in a pod, two shells in a doublebarrelled shotgun for this trip."

"Please stop with the metaphors."

"Take me along, and I think about it."

She only gives me a flat stare and motions me to follow her. Most of the officers stay upstairs; aside from Beckett, Ryan, Esposito and me, only two uniforms take the trip down. The staircase just isn't big enough. Beckett and Ryan, already in tactical gear just like Espo, pull out their handguns. The latino detective however takes out a shotgun. Where did he hide that thing? That thing is probably as long as my whole arm!

The stairs are leading down far into the ground. I can't actually see down the middle because there's a wall, but the knot in my stomach tells me something is off about this place. The lighting is bad, too. If there's anything video games and horror movies have taught me, then this: Never trust a place with bad lighting.

Despite being the youngest of all the six people down here (not counting any bad guys), I'm probably the quietest. We all stopped talking after the third flight, and I'm the only one with rubber soles. I'm not audible on the concrete steps, but it doesn't help much to calm my nerves.

"To be honest, I would've thought you'd ask for my backup piece by now," Beckett says lowly.

I stifle the snicker in my throat in favor of a snort. "No, thank you. I'm a good enough shot, but I'd better stick to hand-to-hand combat for now."

She turns her head to face me which allows me to see the curious smirk on her face. "And why's that?"

I raise an eyebrow. She knows this just as I do. "I'm a minor, and I don't have a license, although the former is the reason for the latter. You handing me a gun would be illegal."

Now Beckett grins. "And why do you think I'd believe that could stop you from trying?"

Damn, ran right into that one. Instead of cursing, like I'd usually do when I've been set up for a joke, I feign shock. "But, detective Beckett, I'm shocked," I exclaim and grab my chest in jest. "Is that what you think of me? This… this tears me apart."

"If you two are done there, do you think we could go on and bust us a murderer? Thank you," Esposito grumbles from behind us, to which we only nod and grin.

I lean over to whisper into her ear. "I appreciate that. I think we needed this."

Her mouth quirks upwards, just a little bit. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

* * *

We're now almost thirty flights down and no end in sight. With this walk going on, we have fallen into a routine already, if you will. Beckett and Ryan are up front, followed by me, about one and a half steps behind, and Esposito and the two officers forming the rear guard. Esposito has loaned the shotgun to Beckett and switched to his normal handgun. I'm thankful for that; no one wants a shotgun behind him.

That this place exists in the first place is a complete impossibility, but now's not the time to think about that; if there ever is, for me at least. We're down here, and we'll keep going. It would be probably more prudent to call for backup, but firstly, time is of the essence, and secondly, calling could be a little difficult, anyhow.

With a huff, Ryan clanks his walkie-talkie into his belt. "Damn it, I've been trying for the last seven flights to get a connection here, but our comms are out. We're too deep under the earth."

"You are not welcome here," a loud voice whispers. Well, it sounds at least as if this person whispers, but there are obviously loudspeakers around so we all can hear it loud and clear anyway.

"Dude, where did that come from?" Esposito asks. He sounds a little creeped out, but who wouldn't, if you knew someone is watching you, but you can't see them?

"There are loudspeakers around here somewhere; but if you want to go back up, you have to go back all the twenty eight flights," Beckett snarks.

I smile as I hear the voice. "At least we know we're at the right place. This was his voice. Worst case, he may not be here, instead surveilling us remotely; but I'm confident we'll find at least a lead to go after him."

The short shock of hair in front of me bobs of laughter. "Always look at the bright side, huh? We should put you together with Ryan, you can be our optimist squad."

"Duly noted Beckett," Ryan deadpans, but cracks up the next moment.

Suddenly Esposito stops, right behind me. I turn around, but he's grinning as well. And I thought something was wrong "What the hell is wrong with you people? We're looking for a murderer and you people are going crazy right now! None of what any of you just said was even remotely funny… oh, shit. We have to get back up!"

"What, Espo? Bad jokes too much to handle for SpecOps guy here?" Beckett laughs.

"Shut up, Becks," Espo tries to snap, but when he's laughing, it doesn't look too chastising. "The bastard is flooding the staircase with nitrous gas! Officers, one takes the short one and one takes Ryan. I got Beckett! Double time it back to the surface, or we all suffocate!"

"That's absolutely horrible," Ryan heaves out under tears of laughter as a uniform throws him over his shoulder and makes his way upstairs.

My world is turned upside down, too, and my field of view is reduced to a uniformed ass and a little bit of leg. Now _that_ I would find funny even without the laughing gas.

After several flights of being tossed around on this burly officer's shoulder, Ryan's talk thing starts crackling. I can't see it, but thank god Ryan shows an amazing presence of mind right now by calling the people upstairs.

With a silent curse on the lips, I pass out.

* * *

I wake up to blinding white lights around me. After my eyes adapt to the brightness, I can make out more details. Medicinal equipment around me, and when I look down my body, I can see into the night. I'm in an ambulance, then. Great. Why am I here again? Oh right, gas filled staircase.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

When I turn my head, I groan. Of all the doctors in New York City, I run into Doctor Davidson. Again.

"Just so you know, I'm not actively looking for occasions to drop unconscious."

"Sure looks like that to me," he says. If he ever has kids, they are going to hate this disapproving tone. That said, I'd prefer it if he reserved it for his kids.

I keep my silence after that. It's not like I can convince him otherwise.

* * *


	14. Let's Get The Case Rolling

Leaning against the door of the break room, my head snaps around when I hear the elevator announce its arrival with a chime. As the doors slide open, I can see Beckett pushing Richard Castle out into the bullpen. With a firm hand, she guides him to her desk and I fall into a trot behind her as she passes me. The writer eyes me curiously once we stopped at Beckett's desk and looks me over from head to toe.

"So, you're the other guy who's following her around?" he asks, but judging by the twinkle in his eye, it's more snarky than hostile.

"Actually, I'm an independent contractor. Think of me more as the friendly neighborhood cat that lays dead mice on your door mat rather than as a puppy. My name's Jonny Gerthson. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Castle. I'm a fan."

With that, I grin slightly and hold out my hand, which he shakes with a warm, firm grasp. "It's always nice to meet fans, especially if they're of such a young age," he says and smiles back. "Speaking of that, how old are you again? No offense, but you are kinda young to hang out in a police precinct just like that."

I let out a snort of laughter. "None taken. I'm fifteen. As to why I'm here... the short version is, I was accused of a crime I didn't commit, and the only way to assure I wouldn't end up as a scapegoat was to turn state's evidence. The DA didn't want that though, but thanks to Detective Beckett and Captain Montgomery convincing him to make a deal, I now work here 'pro bono'. Or rather, I let my information network work for me. I inherited it recently, so you could say I'm an information broker. But only for the good guys, of course."

With a short glance in Beckett's direction, I go on. "First point on the agenda was and is catching the killer who left a terrorist to go boom almost at the precinct's doorsteps. I assume you'll be accompanying Detective Beckett from now on?" Castle gives me a broad grin and a nod, while Beckett verifies that much more reluctantly.

The author's head turns around to face Beckett. "Oh, by the way, I heard what has happened at the abandoned factory. Beckett, how come you've seen more action with him than with me?"

Beckett however doesn't get to answer. Captain Montgomery bursts into the bullpen, a scared techie in tow, and assembles all the homicide division's detectives. Unlike most days when he remains calm and collected, his face right now is ashen and he's shaking with rage; although, to give him credit, the tone of his voice reveals barely nothing for the untrained ear.

"Alright, people, listen up. Everyone not yet assigned to a case, you'll work on the Harper case. Everyone working low profile cases, and by that I mean any other case than the Harper case, you'll work on the Harper case. We received a video claiming responsibility, and I want this arrogant bastard caught, fast. Understood?"

Everyone answers in the affirmative, and Montgomery nods to the tech guy who has already set up beamer and laptop. He opens a video file that starts with a dark screen. Then you see a body moving away from the lens, revealing an older man in a jacket with the british flag on it. Figures. He squints and pats the camera, probably to check it.

"Is this bloody thing on? Ah, never mind. I'll check it later." He opens up his arms and grins. "What's up bitches? Isn't that how you degenerated yanks greet each other?" the man asks, but he waves it aside after a few seconds. "I don't care, really, I just wanted to insult you. As you failed so spectacularly in my favorite hiding place, I should really send you the footage by the way, it's hilarious I tell you, I thought you guys needed a little pick-me-up. So, I confess that I placed the guy in your area and let him explode. There. You happy already? Although, to be honest, I can't take much credit for that, it was really an accident. How could I know that my homebrewed tranquilizer would be so volatile if it comes in contact with alcohol?"

He shrugs with one shoulder. "Meh, it worked, one way or the other. The guy is out of business. Anyway, since you've shown no sign of competence whatsoever, other than that midget informant of yours I've butlered for a few weeks, he seems like a relatively bright guy, at least in comparison, I even let you know that I'm still in my little british oasis here in New York City, and I intend to stay a while," he declares, and his grin grows even wider. "But don't get too complacent. You have twenty four hours to kill me before the press gets some _really_ interesting news to broadcast. Have a nice day, morons!"

The hand darkens the view and the video ends a second later. The room is silent in shock for a few seconds before indignant mumbling flares up. Montgomery hushes the crowd and assigns teams personally. The three detectives plus Castle plus me go back once the captain gives the all clear.

"What is he thinking? I'm not a midget! I know I'm not tall with just over five seven, but neither am I a midget," I grumble and cross my arms on our way to Beckett's desk.

"Really? _That's_ what you took from that video?" Beckett asks incredulously.

I shrug. "What else is there to take? It was pretty straight forward, if you ask me. Bad guy gloats, insults the police a little, we go to his happy place, endow a faceful of buckshot to him, we go home and we drink to celebrate, those of legal age get a beer, and I'm thinking sweet cider works for me."

While I nonchalantly ignore the icy glare Beckett is sending my way, Castle finally shakes his stupor away and points to the now blank screen. "Wait, this guy was your butler? I'd sue the agency."

"Meh. I'll get my money back anyway, I still had warranty on him. I just shouldn't be the one to shoot him. Not worth the hassle. And if this doesn't work for whatever reason, I can still cherish the fact that I am finally allowed to cook in my own kitchen. He was always nearly throwing a fit when I got near that room for anything other than breakfast. At least I can bake my favorite. I make a mean onion tart. Best served with a young 'Federweisser', by the way."

"Ouh, I love a good 'Federweisser', even though it's not easy to get at here in the States. That's the only alcoholic beverage I get my daughter to drink." He points at the three detectives around us. "None of you have heard that."

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Now that we have that out of the way, do you think we could please work on the case? One six-year-old on a sugar rush is bad enough, but two of them? Ugh, I need a coffee." She throws her arms in the air and rushes off to the break room.

I scrunch up my face. "What's wrong? Worried pissing her off might be a bad idea?" Esposito jokes when he sees my expression.

"No. I pity her for the vile beverage she's forcing down right now," I answer, which makes Castle laugh and the two detectives glaring at me, because they know exactly what I'm talking about.

"Have you tried it yet, Mr. Castle?"

"God, no. Not if I can help it," he snorts, but looks slightly thoughtfully at the door to the break room. "Let's hope it actually raises her mood."

"Caffeine, no matter the form, should do the trick. Although a touch of vanilla and a bear claw can go a long way."

A few minutes later, Beckett comes back.

"Any ideas how we can find the guy yet?"

Silence.

I raise my hand. "I could make a call, see if he popped up on my radar."

Beckett waves me away. "Go do that. Break room's free if you need privacy."

Sliding away from her desk, I nod my thanks. "Much appreciated."

With that, I leave for the break room and take my phone out after closing the door behind me. I punch in the number by heart, and wait for the person on the other end to pick up.

Finally, I hear the click that announces the connection. "The plan is in motion. They're after him. Do you have the location? Perfect. Send it to my phone in an hour."

* * *


	15. Exit Stage Right, Part 1

I put my cell phone back into my pocket as I leave the break room. "Someone's looking into it; should take about an hour," I let Beckett and company know.

"Finding one man in New York City in an hour? That's impressive."

"Thanks, Mr. Castle. Although, to be honest, he's not actively trying to hide, so it's not that hard this time."

"Still, not bad at all. And please, just call me Castle, everyone here does it already."

I grin. "Will do... Sir."

* * *

An hour and five minutes later I pick up my cell phone as soon as it rings. "Do you have it?... Perfect. Send it to my phone. Thank you, Sparrow. Payment will be in the usual spot, fifteen thousand, as always; pleasure doing business."

When I end the call and look up, I see questioning looks from the others. I hold out my phone. "Voice distortion. Completely recognition-proven. I tried to comprehend it, but... I think it works with atmospheric noise to randomize voice patterns or something like that. I sound just like my predecessor with that. Most, if not all, informants don't even know they have a new boss," I laugh.

"And where is our guy?" Esposito asks.

"And more importantly, why didn't you ask your contact sooner?" Beckett adds with a small frown.

"To answer the first question, he's at this address." I hold up my phone so they can see the info 'Sparrow' sent me. "And as to why I waited so long, the way my informant gained this information might come to bite me later. And by that I mean it's probably highly illegal. I waited this long because the illegal stuff is only a last resort. Officially, I'd call his information a hunch. Or a gut feeling. Or even an anonymous tip, if you will. Anything but 'he made a phone call to plan illegal activities'. Plausible deniability and all that jazz... And me not going to jail is a plus, of course."

"We'll see if that is really a plus later," Beckett fires back with a smirk on her lips.

I sigh. "I understand. You'd have to wait three more years to see me in handcuffs otherwise. But alas, we're not meant to be," I finish and clutch my chest in jest.

_Smack!_

Not to be whiny or anything, but the slap on the back of my head Beckett gives me for that comment seems a bit over the top to me. Especially coupled with her famous eye roll.

* * *

After Montgomery got the info that we've been able to pinpoint Barry's location, we realized Barry managed to piss off Montgomery for good.

Why do I say that? Well, we're now standing in front of the address Sparrow has given me, and with us is a SWAT team for the assault in case he had the genius idea to leave unfriendly surprises behind for us to find.

It's a glorious image when Esposito knocks on the door and yells "NYPD, open up!"

Mainly because of the black-clad company of armed men and women behind him.

When nobody opens up, he makes way for the SWAT team's battering ram. Once the door is open, the detectives stay back and let the team swarm through the house. Castle and I on the other hand follow the detectives without even thinking twice. I'll go where the action is, and I doubt that will change for Castle anytime soon, either.

A few seconds after entering, we hear a series of strangled cries, and all the SWAT people sink to the ground. With a loud click, a metal door slides down where the destroyed door used to be.

Ryan groans. "Great. Right into his trap. Again. Like idiots!"

"Well, yes, yes and… yes. I was expecting you," A loud voice booms through the room.

"Again with the creepy voice thing? I thought you better than this, Barry. A bit more creativity, maybe?"

"You didn't get to see the best parts of my traps yet, Jonny-boy. There's a famous movie quote that is eerily fitting here… 'I want to play a game', was it, I think. As we speak, the reinforcements you certainly have with you after our last encounter turned into a disaster for you will try to break through the metal sheet that's blocking the entrance. Unfortunately for you and for them, breaking through the sheet will trigger high-explosive demolition charges powerful enough to level the whole block. Enough creativity yet?"

We don't say a word, but I can't even think of a witty response in the first place.

"I guess your silence says enough. The motion triggered darts were a nice touch, right? Anyway, I have another special treat planned for you guys. Oh, and while I'm at it, did anyone of you have a fear of slides as a child?"

We look at each other confused. "No, don't think so. Why are you asking?" I reply.

"Just like that, really. What follows next would've come either way. Although, it would've been more funny if there had been one."

That said, the ground beneath us turns out to be a giant trap door, directly leading us to fall into one of those makeshift transportation pipes you find on tall construction sites.

We land in a heap, and that not too softly. Especially for me, as I'm the first to land. I don't really care how much she weighs, but when Beckett landed on me, she hurt me like hell. And so did Ryan. And Espo. And especially Castle. Once we regain our senses and take in our surroundings, we find ourselves in a bare concrete room. We can't even locate the speaker as the voice pipes up again.

"As an act of generosity, I told your dear colleagues outside what awaits them if they continue to try breaking through the door, so unless they are stupid enough to go on or you set those charges off yourself, you should be safe from outside threats."

Beckett raises an eyebrow. "Outside threats? Then what have you in store for us as inside threats?"

I can hear his stupid smug grin through the loudspeakers. "My, my, you're a bright lass, aren't you? Does a tactical team that fainted mysteriously ring any bells? You see, I'm something of a savant concerning tranquilizers and poisons and the like. In this case, the darts I hit them with wipe their short-term memory clean and make them _very_ open to suggestions, such as, 'kill the rogue detectives in this building who went on a civilian killing spree'. Now, if you'd be so kind to relinquish your service weapons and any other firearms, that'd be great. If not, remember I can be very persuasive, even without drugs. Namely with death threats."

A box pops out of the wall, revealing space for the weapons. When no one moves for a while, another lid opens only to give free view on a .50 machine gun.

"Please, do yourself and me a favor. Blood is a bitch to clean."

Reluctantly, all three detectives put their guns into the box, and their backup pieces, too, after Barry friendly reminds them that they have these too.

"Now, pitting you against a whole SWAT team unarmed would be a tad bit unfair. Therefore… voilà!"

The box with the guns snaps back shut and we hear the pistols crashing down some sort of duct, probably being lost forever. When it opens up again, there are five dart guns in there, one for each of us.

"Of course I thought of every eventuality; as Mr. Gerthson here isn't yet allowed to handle a 'real' gun, we'll equal the playing field for all of you. These dart guns are loaded with the antidote for the SWAT team. If you manage to take them all out, I'll take on one of you five in hand to hand combat, and the loser dies," we can hear him snicker gleefully.

"Why do you want to play games when human lives are at stake?" Beckett asks calmly.

Barrymore is silent for a few seconds. "That's a good question, Detective Beckett. Unfortunately, my path was set once this guy blew up. I've taken many lives during my career. That kill was probably the dumbest. Might as well go out with a boom," he finishes.

"Three detectives, a writer and a teen with dart guns against a whole SWAT team. This should be fun. Off with you!"

* * *


	16. Exit Stage Right, Part 2

'Three detectives, a writer and a teen with dart guns...' That sounds like the start of a bad joke.

"Are we seriously considering this?" I ask. "Not that I'm opposed to a little fun, but I also like having a chance of winning."

"The SWAT team only has fifteen members. That's three for each one of us... if we count the midget," Esposito pitches in with a slight grin on his lips.

"I'll show you first-hand how well the so-called midget can shoot if you don't stop calling me a midget," I grumble. Okay, maybe I don't know how to shoot, so the threat is a little hollow, but is there a reason to be so mean about it?

Perhaps if the Intersect... aaaand there it comes. Just as I take a deep breath and think about it, blueprints of guns rush before my eyes, as well as sketches of posture, bullet trajectory and gun handling. This Intersect is a live saver!

"Alright. Esposito, you take point. Ryan and I after you, Castle and Gerthson, you two take the rear," Beckett says and points at us respectively.

"Really? Why?" I whine. Now that I actually know what I'm doing, I might as well make the best use of it.

She only rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not in the mood to get out of here alive only to get torn apart afterwards for endangering a civilian. Now come with me if you wanna live."

I snicker at that. "Really Beckett? Quoting a 'Terminator' movie in the bad guy's lair? And Sarah Connor at that? That's cold."

"I thought it was fitting," she admits with a tense smile. "Nonetheless, get moving _now_. If we are to take a SWAT team out, we can't wait until we lose the element of surprise."

* * *

"There they are," Esposito whispers and pulls his head back behind the corner.

"I don't usually do this, but… if I don't make it out alive, Castle… please tell your daughter I'm sorry I couldn't help her. I was in a coma for two days after an accident, and in police custody for a crime I didn't commit afterwards. I just didn't get to call her again ever since. She's the only one in this town who wrongly thinks badly about me, I think."

Castle freezes like a deer in the headlights. I wish I had a camera to capture his face. Priceless. "What? You know my daughter?"

"I was at your last book release party and met her at the bar where she learned for a physics test, I promised to help with any physics and math problems she might have, and she called me after a few days with a problem her teacher gave her," I rattle down in a hushed voice. "Now, we have a SWAT team and a british maniac breathing down our necks. I'm more than happy to play twenty questions with you _after_ we survive today. There are over a dozen guys out there on whom you can let out your aggression. Or your panic. Take your pick."

"She called you?" he squeaks.

I barely manage not to roll my eyes. But before I get to answer properly, silenced assault rifle fire batters the wall we're hiding behind and the corridor we're hiding in. We all duck to cover, but a few concrete fragments still hit me and leave bruises on my arms.

Looks like his squeaking cost us the element of surprise.

"Great job, Castle," Ryan yells over the noise and says out loud what we're all thinking. Castle included.

* * *

I blow nonexistent smoke off my dart gun's barrel as the last SWAT guy sinks to the ground, unconscious. "If I counted correctly, this should be the last of them. And that makes this one my sixth guy. Esposito, how many have you got?" I ask with a grin.

"Five. Not bad, not bad… for a _pendejo,_ that is."

"Nice one. Although I might take offense to you calling me a greenhorn. Or an asshole, it depends."

Espo raises an eyebrow. "You speak Spanish?"

I shake my head. "Nah. Picked up a couple of swears over the time, in Russian, too, but that's it. Never came around to learn it properly. Stuck with French and German instead."

Barry starts clapping over the loudspeakers. We never get to actually finish a conversation, do we? "Wow. Well done. Slow clap. Congratulations. Kudos. GG. Impressive! Didn't think you'd actually make it through, but here you are. You've grown on me… like a cancerous mole, but still. I'm even thinking of naming a pony in your honor. What do you think of 'Butt Stallion'?"

"I'm tired of your shit, Barry! Show yourself!" I seethe.

"As you wish."

With a swish, a bullet riddled wall slides to the side and Barry steps through in a black karate outfit. "Now, what you probably don't know about your trainers is that I trained them. So basically, I know your every move. And that's why I challenge you to a duel to the death. The rest of you… well, don't even think about interfering."

A vicious smile pulls his face into a grimace as red dots show up on their chests, courtesy of laser sights. That makes them stop very easily.

"It's fine, I got this," I tell them before turning back to Barry. "I accept your challenge. As the challenged, I choose swords for combat."

"The weapon of a gentleman. I'm impressed. Wait here."

He turns around and walks back through the hole in the wall, leaving me to deal with a flash on swordfighting. Looks messy.

"What are you doing? You can't be seriously _dueling_ him?" Beckett whispers sharply. "You're breaking a ton of laws with that!"

"I'd be more than happy to walk out of here just like that. Truth is, he's a crazy lunatic out to kill us, and what he's doing is like a cat playing with a mouse. The only way out of here is over his dead body, and if that's what it takes, you can rule it under self-defense for all I care, but he dies today."

"That remains to be seen." I whirl around to find Barry standing there with two swords, one in each hand and each sword about two feet long.

He throws one over to me and I catch it at the hilt without breaking eye contact.

I cut through the air to get a feeling for the unfamiliar weapon and fix Barry with an icy stare. "En Garde, Limey. May the better one win, and may your grave be warm and cozy."

* * *

We're trading blows for about ten minutes now, and I feel that my arm is getting heavier and heavier with every second. No one has been able to seriously injure the other, not counting the numerous cuts and bruises.

Our styles are very different. Barry is, to all our surprise, quite elegant in his use of the sword, and pretty fast, too. Way faster and more enduring than you would attest this old man on the first glance. I however, am more of a grunt, burying him under a flurry of slashes. That has kept him on the defensive until now just fine, but with my stamina going near the end, something has to happen, and fast; otherwise, we're pretty much screwed. He often tries to goad me into attacking seemingly unprotected spots, but I know better; the second I go for that, I'm a head shorter. Time for another trick of my repertoire.

"Look, what's that behind you?"

* * *


	17. Exit Stage Right, Finale

Time for another trick of my repertoire.

"Look, what's that behind you?"

"What the... seriously? You think I'm a bloody idiot?" Barry laughs. "That didn't work for decades, if not for centuries! You should be ashamed...!"

He doesn't get to finish his taunts. He looks down in surprise on the sword buried in his chest and back up at me. Sometimes, the desperate moves work, too. I shove the sword's handle back a little and let go of it, which makes Barry stumble and fall backwards into the wooden ground. He tries to pull it out, but his momentum from the fall has buried it deep into the wood.

"Huh, guess it worked anyway, sprog," he presses out breathlessly. The lack of blood accompanying his words from his mouth tell me I didn't hit the lungs. That stretches his time left a little.

I reach into his pockets and fish out a little touchpad with the controls to the building and wave him away. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I think you should... stick around for a while, though."

With that pun and a smirk on my lips I turn on my heels and leave him to die. I hear him hit his head on the ground, but I don't want to waste another look on him. He's done enough evil already. And I'm missing my pun glasses.

"Don't you dare walk away like that, Gerthson! I don't deserve to die with a terrible pun as the last words to hear! Do you understand me, you ungrateful bastard!" Barry yells at my back with his last breath, but by now, the others have turned around, too.

"He was right, you know?" Castle says as we walk over to the door. "That was a terrible pun."

"I know. But when do you get to deliver a corny one-liner outside of movies and novels?... Exactly."

* * *

Thankfully, the remote didn't hide any surprises, so we got out without any further problems. Finally. We did have enough problems on the way. My role in getting out of there was decidedly too hot for the official reports, so outside our little group of the three detectives, Castle and I, nobody but Captain Montgomery knew the truth about what had happened in the cursed building.

The police psychologists say that Barry had OCD with a self-destructive notion and wanted to punish himself for failing his latest murder. Of course, they have no idea what really went down with Barry.

I snort a little on the taxi ride back home. It's funny that they would say that... as it is actually not entirely bullshit.

But that's a thought for another day, though. It's late and I'm tired. For now, I'll enjoy a nice cold (root) beer for a job well done before hitting the hay. Entering my building, I nod to the night doorman with a smile and take the elevator up to my loft, accompanied by the by now familiar bossa nova jingle.

Equipped with a full bottle from the fridge, I sift through the extensive disk record collection in the living room, not bothering to turn on the lights other than the dim background lighting behind the ceiling-high bookshelves that divide the room. I pull a record out and put it on, closing my eyes as the wonderful voice of Nina Simone fills the loft.

"I'm surprised you know how to use one of these. That's not exactly common knowledge for your generation."

I only flinch minimally upon hearing the voice. Its owner probably sticks to the shadows, or else I would've seen him on the way to the records. Keeping my eyes closed, I listen to the music for another moment before finally dignifying this intrusion to my well earned rest with an answer.

"I have to thank my father for that. He showed me how to use one when I was about eight years old. Of course, back then I had no idea what he was talking about, but the movements stuck."

"Understandable. Not many eight year olds can grasp technology to that extent, if they didn't grew up with it from the start."

I'm surprised to find the voice to be actually quite conversational; nonetheless, I don't want to turn around yet. I don't want to ruin it. "How have you been?"

"Oh, I could've been better. Travelling is always such a bother. And I got demoted, too."

"I figured as much. Chin up, there's a bright side to everything," I quip with a wry grin on my lips.

"Indeed there is. Although, I never figured you to be that devious."

I shrug. "It's not by choice. I'm living a lie. I can't afford not to be devious, even if I don't like it. I hate it, in fact."

For that I get a chuckle. "For hating to be devious, you're awfully good at it."

"Shut up," I grumble.

"Maybe later. I wanted you to know that I have no hard feelings for you. Well, maybe for that terrible pun. That stung more than the sword to the chest," Barry jests. "And you're right, there is a bright side to everything. I'm out of that old guy's body."

Now I do have to turn around. Barry in a new body, now that's a sight I just have to see. I hit the light switch as I turn around, illuminating a middle aged man with black hair, neatly parted as always. Framing his face (that is spotting a smile to my surprise) is a neatly trimmed full beard.

I raise an eyebrow. "When I said that there was a bright side to this, I rather meant me getting an in with the NYPD and establishing my role in this universe."

He however waves me away. "Bollocks. My new body is way more important."

"Whatever floats your boat, I guess. Speaking of your new body, by the way... I can't say I'm not disappointed that they didn't put you in a woman's body. Would've served you right."

Now he's outright grinning. "Oh, they tried."

I snort. "Considering you look more like a younger Timothy Dalton with a beard than a Centerfold, what went wrong?"

Barry waggles his eyebrows. "They reverted it back soon because I immediately started fondling myself. More specifically, my more mountainous assets in chest height."

I pull a face at that. "Eww, gross. Too much information."

He shrugs. "What? It worked out just fine for me, didn't it? And I even got younger. I'd call that a win-win." I roll my eyes at him.

"Anyway, changing to other, less yucky topics, do you want a beer? There should still be cold ones in the fridge."

He picks a can up from the table and holds it high. "I've already taken the liberty. God knows I can use one after the day I'm having," he snorts. "That was the first time the punishment for failure was that harsh. And humiliating. But all in all, now that it's in the past, I think it might be a story I'll be able to laugh about in years to come."

"Let's hope so," I chortle. "It might get a little awkward between us otherwise, if we are to work together."

I swirl the fluid in my bottle around and watch it intently. "So, what's the plan? You'll be my butler again?"

"Actually, no. The higher-ups thought it would be less conspicuous if a relative cared for you."

I fix him with a piercing glare. "Don't you dare say it."

He grins in reply. "Say hello to your 'uncle Andrew'. However, as I'm apparently not yet to be trusted again, I got the right hand of the elders as a watch dog."

"I'm not a watch dog," a female voice grumbles. "I'll be actively working to your advancement in this universe, not merely observing it."

"Great, unleashed too," Barry... Andrew sighs.

The woman that steps into the light tries to burn him with her glare, and I'm thinking there's not missing much for her to succeed. Beyond that, she's not that scary looking at all. With short black hair, olive skin and high cheekbones, she might as well have had a modeling career. Or still has, you never know. I can't tell how old she is. She could be everything between her late twenties and her early forties.

"And to think I'll be playing the role of your wife..." she says shaking her head. Then she looks at me and extends her hand. "I'm your new 'aunt Zoe'; I've followed your progress in inserting yourself in the targets' lives and I can honestly say you're exceeding our expectations, especially with how well you handled executing Agent Barry's reprimand following your first mission. It's nice to see you again," she greets me, a smile on her lips as I shake her hand.

At least she's well mannered even if a little bit too strictly business for my taste, in contrast to other present company... Wait, what?

"Wait, what? What do you mean, 'again'?" I haven't met many people from this mysterious company I'm working for. I half expect her to pull off her face and reveal herself to be the G-Man. Although that would exceed his usual treshold for humor thousandfold.

She sighs theatrically. "I guess I couldn't expect more, given that our time together was cut rather short due to intruding detectives."

I blink a few times trying to comprehend what she's saying. "Cass... Cassandra?" I stammer, remembering with dread how our last encounter played out.

Barry / Andrew throws his arms in the air in annoyance. "Eureka! His penny dropped! Congratulations. Welcome to the McRiosca's!"

Great. I get to live with my fake aunt and uncle, one of whom blew a guy up with a malfunctioning tranquilizer and the other one put me in hospital because she was annoyed with me. We're off to a great start, aren't we?

* * *


	18. Encore, Part 1

After the attention around the incident with Barry died down, I was finally able to actually get situated in the new life I was going to live for the next few years, maybe for the next decade, or perhaps even longer.

Living with Barry and Cassandra turned out to be not as bad as I originally feared. Barry was almost as grumpy as ever; Cassie however was a pleasant surprise, mellowing Barry to a bearable limit. It even sounds almost fatherly when he calls me 'moron' now. After months of living together, it has grown from an annoying necessity to a just about tolerable temporary solution for them.

School had been more of an annoyance than I expected, but after a visit by my "aunt and uncle", the school's director was more than happy to allow me to skip class and only come to the exams. I don't know what they did to him, but, to be honest, I don't really want to know either. I'm just glad I'm not stuck in high school.

There have actually been a few cases where Beckett asked for my help since the Harper case, all of which I just "consulted my network" (read: accessed the related files in the Intersect and pretended to wait for an answer for an hour or so) for. I never actually gave them the killer, that would be cheating, but I gave them enough clues so they could figure it out on their own.

It feels a little bit weird to think those thoughts, to watch over someone's efforts like a god, or rather a guardian angel. Speaking of that... I inquired quietly, but I couldn't tell if Castle has already asked his friend to look over Kate's mother's case. On the other hand, I am to interfere only if things go downhill.

I think I'll notice that soon enough.

Enough of the past, already. Diana Krall's voice is filling the living room, as it was my turn to pick out the disk record for the evening. Well, that, and Cassie and Barry are out for dinner, to 'keep up appearances'. Apparently, it's not possible in this city to be rich and not be part of the social life. I as their nephew am spared from most events, thank god. I prefer to spend my evenings mainly as I do now: sprawled over the couch with a hot cocoa on the table, I'm engrossed in 'Storm Fall'. A signed copy, by the way. Yep, I got one, practically right after the Harper case. It was a bit awkward to ask someone you work with to sign a book, but it was so worth it. Even though it somehow takes the fun out of the story to know the main character is going to die in the end, the fanboy in me alone is enough to make me love it. And knowing that Derrick Storm's death was for a good cause… mainly the appearance of Nikki Heat.

As I snicker in fanboy-glee, the doorbell rings.

_It can't be Cassie and Barry… they have a key. Maybe a new case?_

I shrug and walk over to the door. When I look through the peephole, I open the door immediately.

"Alexis?! What are you doing here?"

"Gee, what a welcoming greeting," the redhead jokes.

I shake my head to get rid of the spiders that are apparently nesting in my brain. _Dumbass!_ it shouts at me. Stepping aside, I motion her in. "Uh, right. Of course. Come in, Alexis."

I think I forgot to mention that Alexis and I are somewhat friends now. We don't meet often, but she calls every once in a while to check on me. And on her dad. I think that's mainly because her dad won't tell her everything. Especially not the dangerous parts.

As she walks through to the living room and I've closed the door again, I finally break out of my stupor and take in the situation.

While Alexis has always shown impeccable fashion sense (I guess that's at least partially inherited), I've never seen her in such an outfit; a knee-length, v-necked, deep blue dress, complete with high heels. That's gala wear. And judging by how she sounded as she made that joke, her usually calm demeanor has been upset deeply; Alexis Castle on the verge of tears is not a sight you take lightly.

I turn down the music and let her take a seat on the couch, where she slumps down with folded hands and stays silent.

I've never understood women, and I never will, I fear, but from what I've learned from movies (yes, I have to fall back on _that_ knowledge), talking about what has happened would make things, whatever they may be, even worse right now. Then I have an idea.

"Tea or hot cocoa?"

She looks up confused, but when she processes my question, she mouths a soft "Chamomile, please," before falling silent again. I'm already on my way to the kitchen where I set up the electric kettle.

The water is boiling in half a minute tops, and I return to Alexis, who gratefully takes the steaming cup from my hands.

Minutes pass in silence, while we let the tea steep. After she pulls out the tea bag, she takes a sip and sighs with closed eyes.

Moments like this, I wish the Intersect could tell me how to comfort someone. I guess it's not in a spy's usual area of expertise.

"This evening I went to prom with Owen," she starts. _Oh boy. He dropped the ball, didn't he?_ "At first everything was going smoothly, but after some time, I had to use the bathroom, and when I came back I saw him kiss another girl."

"That toad!" I exclaim, but apologize with a meek "Sorry" when I see her flinching at my outburst. I did interrupt her rather rudely didn't I?

"I belted him one with my purse and left. Dad and Detective Beckett are still out on a case, Grandma is at a technology-free spa and I didn't want to go to the precinct, so I took a taxi to your place."

 _Gee, thanks for telling me I'm at the bottom of your list,_ I almost say, but swallow the less than constructive joke. Instead, I think of a way to help her cope. Without alcohol, of course.

I might have to think of a new career as a light bulb, with the frequency ideas hit me today.

"I don't know how I could possibly fix this, or even if you want me to; but I know a place that cheers me up every time I'm down, and I think you could use a little pick-me-up. Although… maybe that's not exactly the best attire." I think for a moment. "Wait here for a moment, I'll be back in a flash!"

I bolt to my aunt's walk-in closet and rifle quickly through the clothes, eventually pulling out a jeans, a neutral top, some sneakers and an old belted leather jacket, with which I quickly return to Alexis, who stood up in the meantime.

She looks at me puzzled when I dump the clothes and the shoes into her arms. "What do I need these for?"

"My aunt's nearly your size, only taller. These should fit just fine."

"Wait, how would you know my size?"

"I don't. It's an educated guess; I jobbed at a clothing store as a teenager, and one of the sales women taught me how to read people's sizes." Not really; the Intersect helped. "You can change in there. Come on, it will be fun!"

With that, I pilot her to the closet and close the door behind her. I don't know if she will even join in, but it's worth a shot.

Five minutes later, she emerges from the room, her prom dress over the arm and sporting an unsure smile.

"You were right, I only had to roll up the legs of the jeans and they fit. Will your aunt be really okay with that?"

I wave her concerns away. "You're a friend in need. Whatever I do to help you, she'll be okay with it. Even if she were a little miffed at first, which I doubt in the first place, she would agree to it once she hears what you've been through today."

We leave the dress in the loft and take the elevator to the first floor. "Shall I call for a cab, sir?" the doorman asks, which I answer in the affirmative.

Seconds later, we stand outside in the nightly New York and wait for the cab the doorman whistled for.

As the yellow car pulls up in front of the building, I open the door for Alexis and wait for her to get in before climbing in myself. I tell the driver an address not too far away from my place, but Alexis doesn't seem to know it.

"Now will you tell me where we are going?" she asks.

"Nope," I reply, popping the 'p' and grinning, "it's a surprise. You'll see soon enough, it's not too far away from here."

This time of the day, or night, more appropriately, the traffic isn't that bad for New York City, so we arrive fast. It's a quite nondescript brick building in a row of houses, only a neon sign announcing 'OPEN' tells the unknowing passerby that there is a shop or something in there.

Of course it's no shop. I wouldn't take a girl out shopping to cope with something.

Alexis looks kinda sceptical when I help her out of the cab. To be honest, I probably would be, too. If I didn't know what awaits us inside, that is.

"What's this place?"

"This place is 'fun'. I hope you have heard of it? Now come on, we might just be on time!" That said, I usher her through the door.

We're greeted by a grinning man, about forty years old and seven feet tall. His hairline has long abandoned his forehead, and what little hair is left is reduced to stubble with a buzz cut. Actually, I think his five o'clock shadow might be longer than his scalp hair. He adjusts his glasses as he steps out from behind the counter and opens his arms wide to greet us.

"Ah, _medvezhonok*_. It's so good to see you again, my friend!" he declares loudly in a strong russian dialect. "And you brought a lady friend today, too? You'll be going places if you keep up the pace, young man," he murmurs just loud enough for both Alexis and I to hear as he gives me a bear hug and winks as he lets go. Then he brings Alexis fingers to his lips and breathes a kiss on them.

"Thank you for your warm welcome, Arkadiy. Mind if we go in?" I say and try (probably in vain) to hide my blush.

"But you haven't introduced me to your friend yet!" he cries out indignantly.

"Sure, no problem… Arkadiy, this is Alexis. She's had a rough evening and I thought I'd bring her here for a little fun. Alexis, this is Arkadiy. He's the owner of this illustrious establishment, and he has become a good friend over the last few months."

"That is true. And any friend of Vanya is a friend of mine. I wish you luck. Today is only one other regular here, so it's a little bit of a gamble."

I perk up at this. "Really? Who?"

"It's Varnava," he tells me with another wink. "he also seems to have need of a little pick-me-up, just like your girl here."

I rub my hands together, ignoring the fact that he called Alexis 'my girl'. "Then we're in for a treat. It never gets boring with Varnava around…"

* * *


	19. Encore, Part 2

As we step into the back of the 'shop', a ringing bell announces the end of the round.

On our way to the locker rooms, we catch a glimpse of one of the players coming back, which causes Alexis to stop in her tracks; I can imagine she has recognized the gear.

"Wha... you brought me here for laser tag?"

I turn around to face her. "Yep. It's a great way to relieve stress, and it's fun. It keeps your wits and reflexes sharp and you get to dish out headshots left and right without actually hurting people."

She lets out a little snort. "Yeah, I know what laser tag is, alright. I've been playing with my dad since I was old enough to hold a gun."

"Huh. Didn't know that." Yes I did. "So... are you game?" I ask with a grin.

She smiles a little and gives me a hesitant nod. "I guess so."

Once we don our gear, we meet up with all the other players.

Including Varnava.

A tall blonde guy in a suit (without the jacket) walks over and raises his arm for a high five, which I gladly return. "Look what the cat dragged in," he greets me with a smile.

"It's good to see you, too, Barney." I turn around to introduce these two.

"Barney, this is Alexis, I brought her here to cheer her up. FYI, she's underage, so don't try anything. Alexis, this is Barney, he works at GNB and is a crazy good shot with a laser tag gun."

They shake hands before Barney turns to the rest of the team. I've played with him often enough to know we're in for an epic speech.

"Listen up! Forget about the Geneva Convention; this is war. If our enemies don't end up in tears, we've done something wrong, and there is no room for errors. I need all of you at the top of your game. For every mistake you make, someone drowns a kitten or a puppy somewhere!"

"Who said you get to be captain?" a squeaky voice interrupts. We look down to see a young girl chewing bubblegum, probably eight years old.

"Yeah! You suck!" a chubby boy, maybe only two years older, chimes in.

Barney is staring slack-jawed at the gall of those two. Nobody messes with my friends... and I think we should teach them a lesson. With a (mildly evil) plan forming in my head, I smirk shortly before tipping the girl on the shoulder.

"Listen squirts, I know you think we 'old people' aren't much fun... but how about a challenge?" I ask with a smile. "All of you except for us three change their responders to the enemy team. You get to shoot at us, and we get at least a little bit of a challenge. It's a win-win. Here in this establishment, this even has its own name; it is called a 'hardcore match'. Ask Arkadiy about the rules if you're interested in them. So, are you in or are you chicken?"

The girl narrows her eyes at me and shares a look with the other badmouthed kid, before nodding vigorously. "Prepare to get your ass whooped, sucker."

With that, they turn on their heels and stalk over to the enemy base.

"Don't you think you're too hard on them?" Arkadiy asks from behind us.

I shake my head. "Nah. They are in need of a little lesson, methinks. Also, I'm dying to try out a few new things I've been practicing."

After a few moments, Barney slaps me on the shoulder. "So it seems we've come to the point where it's us against the rest of the world again, huh?"

I chuckle at that and point to Alexis. "Don't forget her. She's been into laser tag since she was a little girl. You can trust her just as much as you trust me."

That raises three pairs of eyebrows, two of them belonging to grinning faces, and one to Alexis.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." At least it's said with a small smile, although I can't tell how it was meant.

Arkadiy retreats without another word to his box, but not without a wink sent my way.

* * *

The match goes well so far. We've 'eliminated' about half of the enemy team without friendly 'casualties' already, but it's getting harder already.

Barney dives behind the cover Alexis and I are hiding behind and lands between us in a ninja roll.

"This is the most fun not involving women of legal age I've had in months!" he exclaims with a manic grin. "Wait, that came out wrong…"

"Glad you're having fun, but we're getting kinda swarmed here," I laugh.

He squints over the hip-high wall, but enemy fire forces him back behind cover as soon as he's in sight.

"We need a diversion!" he yells.

Alexis bites her lip for a second before nodding with determination. "I'll go."

Barney however won't have any of that and grabs her arm before she can stand up. "Let me do it. You still have all your life before you."

She looks at him confused, which is quite understandable as we're 'only' playing laser tag.

"Play along with it," I mouth with an amused smile on my lips.

As she nods in the affirmative after seeing my silent advice, he jumps up and runs away screaming.

"You'll never get me aliiiiiiive!"

As he pulls fire with his admittedly harebrained move, Alexis and I fall back behind the next line, just in time to avoid the new barrage of light fired at us as the little squirts realize they've been outsmarted by a raving madman. Crazy, yes, but also quite funny.

Hearing the telltale sound of Barney's 'alive' transponder going off, the half-pints roar in triumph at neutralizing one third of their enemies.

"Give up, you oafs! You can't hold out forever!" the bratty girl from before taunts us.

I scowl. "They're tougher than I thought. For ten-year-olds, at least. We should flank them."

"But how? The instant we raise out of cover, we're done for!" Alexis argues.

I grin and waggle my eyebrows. "I could throw you behind enemy lines."

Her mouth drops open. "Please tell me you're kidding!"

"No, wait! This could work! I loft you over the front rank, and you can flank them… and boom, mayhem ensues."

"What are you thinking?! I can't fly!"

"Think of the mayhem, Alexis. The _mayhem!_ " I exclaim gleefully. I think I might be enjoying this a little too much, but thankfully, I can't be bothered to care. "Look, you won't have to do much besides rolling off your shoulder when you land. You won't be neither fast nor high enough to get seriously injured. Plus, I'd owe you one. _Big time._ Come _on,_ it'll be fun!" I say and nudge her.

She rolls her eyes and quirks one side of her mouth upwards for like half a second before nodding, but that's all the confirmation I need. I close my eyes to hide the cross-eyes a flash from the Intersect always includes and let the information about physics and acrobatics wash over me.

I put my gun down to grab her left arm and her left leg and take a step away from our cover to have enough space for our little stunt.

"Okay, hold on tight to your gun, and remember to roll off your shoulder. Three… two… one… Geronimo!"

I swing her around in a circle and let go at an angle of approximately thirty five degrees, which should propel her over our cover with an ideal ratio of horizontal and vertical acceleration. Theoretically, it should also provide a low enough descent angle to allow for a smooth landing.

The physics behind it taking a backseat for a moment, the whole hall stills at the sight of a young redhead sailing gracefully through the air and landing in a roll that allows her to target most members of the other team in a matter of seconds.

Using the mayhem this demonstration of awesomeness has caused, I raise from behind the metal and dispose of the last two Alexis has missed.

I slide over the bar and rush over to Alexis, who is staring at her hands in shock.

"Alexis, are you okay?" I ask, fearing she might have been injured after all.

She raises her head and looks at me with eyes wide open. "That. Was. _Awesome!_ " she exclaims and breaks out into a huge smile.

Barney, who is grinning like a Cheshire cat, walks over and pulls both Alexis and me into a bear hug before high-fiving me. "I knew you two had it in you. That was amazing, bro!"

Arkadiy waits for the half-pints to clear out the hall with hung heads before joining our victorious team.

"Ah, Vanya… you have excelled yourself once more. I have never seen a move like this used in a match."

I grin at my friend. "I certainly hope so. Please tell me you recorded it."

He lets out a snort. "Are you kidding? I always have the cameras rolling when you and Varnava are here together. There's not much mischief left you haven't tried together, but yours are the most entertaining matches I get to see, so they are worth the headaches."

"If that's the case, I'd like a copy for all of us, please. It's not everyday you get to say you were flung through the air for the sole purpose of creating mayhem," I laugh, and the others join in after trying to hold it in to no avail.

* * *

Soon after that, Alexis remembered that she had to be home soon, so we stopped on the way to _Casa Castle_ at my place to collect her prom stuff.

"Thanks for taking me to that laser tag place. You really cheered me up, Jonny," she says smiling, in front of the loft's door.

I wave it away. "Pssh, don't mention it. Anything for a friend."

When she opens the door, I can see Castle already gazing through me from the . "That's… not Owen."

Alexis sighs. "Yes, dad, that's correct. I thought you were out with Beckett on a case."

He rushes over and hugs his daughter. "Our latest lead turned out to be a hoax, so we called it a night. What happened, pumpkin? Why aren't you wearing your prom dress?"

"Not now, dad. Can we talk tomorrow, please? I really want to just go to bed and forget about the prom."

Castle nods his consent and kisses her hair to say goodnight. She turns around and hugs me tightly, much to my and Castle's surprise.

"Thank you for taking care of me tonight," she whispers before vanishing upstairs.

"Care to tell me what this was about?" Castle asks in a very menacing, casual tone.

I shrug. "Not my place to tell what happened exactly, but this Owen proved to be a massive jerk." I pause for a moment. "Just… give me a call after she tells you what has happened. I think I can help you then."

After a short goodbye, I make my way home and anxiously await the morning.

* * *

_The next night…_

The room is dipped in darkness, no windows to let the moonlight shine through. The only light source is a tv screen that shows warped patterns, bathing a scared boy who's duct taped to a chair in an eerie red light.

He struggles against his restraints, but his eyes soon fixate on the screen.

"I've squandered my only chance with Alexis Castle by kissing another girl. I will apologize and then hold my distance. I owe her for the distress I've caused her. I will never be able to pay my debt in full," a low voice whispers into the boy's ear. The message repeats over and over again, until he bobs his head in tact with the speech cadence, his eyelids drooping tiredly.

* * *

_next afternoon…_

The door opens and Alexis enters the loft. The keys, hastily thrown into the bowl by the door, clank and alert her father to her presence. Knowing her dad well enough, she sticks her head in the kitchen. True enough, she finds the mystery writer sitting at the counter with a second (or third) breakfast and a big, steaming cup of coffee.

"Dad, hi, I'm back from school... did you talk to Owen by any chance?"

"Hm, what? Owen? Nope. Why?" he asks and takes another bite of his scone.

"I met him today in school and he was a totally different guy and didn't stop apologizing."

Castle snorts. "He better not be. I wish I were responsible for that, but sadly, no, I haven't talked to him. Yet."

* * *

"You're speaking to the one and only Jonny Gerthson. How can I help you?"

"Jonny, it's Castle. It worked! What did you say to him, by the way?"

"Oh, nothing special. I can just be very persuasive."

"I see. Anyway, there's a charity of mine that's coming up, and seeing as you have helped both Alexis and me this last days, I'd say it's overdue that we'd do something for you. So, consider yourself officially invited. What do you say?"


End file.
